Gone
by Rasiaa
Summary: So many areas crossed out, so many crannies and nooks and plains and wide fields searched. There was nothing. No hint of a struggle, or a trail, or anything. Merlin was gone. And has been for over a year. / Reveal fic
1. The Prologue

_And... a prologue. Lovely, right? I'm working on it, but first- I came up with the idea at 2.30 am here and I am posting this because I want some feedback before I go on. If it's worth my time, I guess? This, should we continue, will take place sometime during the season 5 era, with Merlin/Mordred as the end goal and some hints of Merthur along the way. I want at least 10 chapters out of this, not including this pathetic amount of words, alongside an actual plot that doesn't get resolved for a while... unlike practically everything else I write. This will be a reveal fic_

* * *

Arthur wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to be looking at.

Because what it looked like, and what it actually was, were two different things, surely.

Except they really weren't, and he knew that. Logically, he knew that.

…

 _Six Months Ago_

"It's… it's been a year, sire."

As if Arthur didn't know that.

"He's only a servant. There's no use in wasting more-"

"Shut up," Arthur seethed, swinging his eyes to the speaker; one of many nameless nobles he dealt with on a daily basis that meant nothing to him. "Just shut up."

"Sire-"

"I said _shut up_!"

The man reared back and Arthur nodded, then turned back to the map on the table. So many areas crossed out, so many crannies and nooks and plains and wide fields searched. There was nothing. No hint of a struggle, or a trail, or anything.

Merlin was gone.

…


	2. The Beginning

_Part two. I think I've done a fairly good job in posting this less than 24hrs later, right? Don't get used to it, haha. I will try for a chapter every other day or so but seriously who knows. It will be finished though, do not fear. I hate leaving things unfinished so even if it takes years I'll finish it. It shouldn't though. I've managed a chapter everyday for over a week before and I'll do it again._

* * *

Gwen had long since stopped crying.

But it still seemed like her eyes got duller with each passing day. And it broke Arthur's heart now more than ever. He had to stay strong for her or she would shatter, but he felt like he would break at any moment.

 _"I never thought you to be a coward."_

And the servant had quite evidently taken that as a challenge.

…

"Arthur?"

He hummed, looking up at his beautiful wife with a smile. But she didn't smile back, and so his faded. "I know, Guinevere."

"It's just- another month has gone by with no word," she said. "I don't know what to think."

 _Is he dead?_

The thought went unsaid, but rang loud and clear through their minds, impossible to ignore. He stood, holding out his arms, and she fell into him. "I miss him so much, Arthur. He was my best friend."

"Mine too," he agreed, resting his chin on her dark hair. "Mine, too."

…

He wandered into the physician's chambers without a word, but Gaius doubtlessly knew he was there anyway. For a long time, neither of them spoke. "Can I help you, sire?" Gaius eventually asked, stopping his grinding of herbs to turn and look at Arthur inquisitively.

Arthur paused, looking up at the ceiling before his gaze wandered to the locked door above the small staircase. "Do you ever go in there?" he asked.

Gaius also looked at the door, so still and plain but so ominous in its meaning. "No," Gaius said. "It isn't my place to go through his things."

"Even if…"

Gaius glanced over sharply. "Even if he's gone," Gaius said. "I won't. I can't bring myself to do it until I know for certain, sire."

Arthur gestured helplessly. "He's only a servant. I don't know how he could have survived over a year alone and without anyone knowing where he's gone to."

The old man gave him a slow, steady look. "I think Merlin is more capable on his own than you realize, sire," he said.

"How?"

…

 _One Year Ago_

"Rise and shine!"

Arthur groaned and reached around until he located a spare pillow and he flung it in the general direction of the voice. He heard laughter, feminine and light, next to him and he crack his eyes open to look at Guinevere, who smiled.

He grinned back and then yelped when the covers on the bed were drawn back. Merlin, completely uncaring of their mutual states of undress, whistled merrily and walked away. Gwen shrieked a bit and covered herself back up as Arthur began to curse at the servant, "Dammit, Merlin! Someday I'm going to have to execute you for seeing things you're not supposed to see!"

Merlin laughed. "I'm not going to look at Gwen, Arthur. My job is not making sure that she gets out of bed, only that your royal backside gets into clothing and into the council meeting in an hour."

He glanced at the light through the window and swore again, getting a pair of breaches flung in his face just as he made to get up. "Merlin…" he warned, and then the shirt quickly followed.

"Sire?"

"You really are the most rotten servant. I don't know why I put up with this. I ought to sentence you to the stocks for that."

"But you won't, because you've got a list of chores long enough to stretch the length of this room for me to do!" Merlin cheerfully announced. "Honestly, I can't catch a break."

Arthur, having successfully pulled his clothing on, got up and walked to the table, where he then ordered, "Merlin! Get out so Guinevere can get dressed!"

The servant laughed and did as he was bid, the door clicking behind him. Arthur rolled his eyes as Guinevere then hopped out of the bed and made her way to the closet, tugging out a blue dress and disappearing behind the changing wall. "Arthur?" she asked.

He hummed in acknowledgement, shoving a piece of fruit into his mouth as he walked to the closet to get a jacket for him to be seen in. "Have you noticed that Merlin seems to be a bit… off, lately?"

His eyebrows furrowed. "He's Merlin. He's always a bit off."

She laughed, but then it died down and she said, "That's not what I meant. He just seems- distant."

As he thought it over, he realized she was right. He opened his mouth to speak but- "Can you help me ties these, love?"

He stood up and joined her, running his hands over her shoulders before taking the ties and beginning to work them into their proper knots. When he finished, he turned her around and kissed her. "Beautiful," he said. "How am I so lucky?"

"It is I who is lucky," she said, and kissed him again.

…

They planned a hunting trip two days later. He took his finest knights- Leon, Percival, Gwaine, Elyan, and Mordred, and they rode out at dawn.

Then the obnoxious whistling took up residence among them, and Arthur was abruptly reminded of his wayward servant, who tagged along next to him. He sighed. "Can you stop that?" he demanded.

The whistling got louder.

He groaned and the whistling was replaced with snickers from all the knights and Merlin, who treated Arthur to a cheeky smile. Something- something off, quicksilver, flashed through his eyes, but it was gone before he could decode it.

And that quicksilver emotion appeared every time Merlin looked at him. It became more obvious the more he looked for it, and he realized that this is what Guinevere was talking about. He looked lost, maybe, or just sad, hopeless.

Arthur didn't know why, and he wanted to fix it, but he didn't know how.

The first day came up with nothing, no thanks to Merlin, and the second turned out much the same.

"Merlin?" Arthur called, and there was no response.

He turned around, looking around the camp, "Where did that idiot go?" he asked the empty air.

"He said something about refilling the water skins, sire," Elyan responded, unpacking his bed roll on the night of the second day out of the four planned.

Arthur nodded decisively.

And then time passed. No sound, no sign, no nothing.

"I'll go look for him, my lord," Mordred said, and when Arthur nodded to him, a worm of worry in his heart, Mordred vanished into the trees.

It was only when the knight managed to do things like that that he remembered the boy was a druid, and they all seemed to have the innate skill of blending in even in plain sight.

More time passed, and when Mordred was gone for an hour, Arthur stood. "Sire?"

Mordred had returned, and without Merlin in tow. Arthur shot him and questioning look but Mordred spread his hands helplessly. "There's no sign of him, my lord."

The boy looked worried. Very worried, and there was something else about him that made the hairs on the back of Arthur's neck rise. "What's the matter, Mordred? There's something else, isn't there?"

He hesitated, and when Arthur kept staring at him, the other knights doing the same, Mordred folded. "There was a message, sire. In the stream."

"What do you mean?" Arthur had a cold feeling spreading through his whole body, and he didn't like it. Merlin couldn't be gone.

"It just- it said-"

"What, Mordred?"

The boy swallowed. "Not even Emrys can help you now," he recited.

The line was familiar, but he couldn't remember where he'd heard it before.

…

They extended the trip, sending Elyan back to inform Guinevere so she wouldn't worry too much about their being late. Knowing his wife as he did though, her worry would only increase with the news. Still, it had to be done.

They searched first around the stream, and poor Mordred just about burst into tears at the sight of the message again, burned into a stone at the bottom of the stream. Arthur pulled it out with difficulty, and when he managed to retrieve it, the message was gone. To say the knights were unsettled would be the understatement of the century.

"Merlin?" Arthur kept calling, each time more irritated and worried than the last.

There never was an answer.

…

"How?" Gaius repeated.

 _Six Months Ago_

Arthur nodded, waving his hands absently. "That idiot can barely hold a sword, never mind stay in the wilderness alone for over a year."

Gaius said nothing, and instead just looked back at the door.

He walked over to the stairs and swung the door open.

Arthur got up and followed quickly, entering the small room behind Gaius. The bed was unmade, and the clothes were gone. There was a floorboard upended under the bed, and there was no sign of anyone ever having lived here other than the sheets. The window was open, the glass cracked and splintered.

Arthur wandered over to it, looking at the scuff marks on the windowsill, and on the roof below. "Gaius?" he asked. He turned around and saw that the man was pale as snow, leaning heavily on the doorframe. Concerned, Arthur walked to him and rested his hand on the old man's shoulder. Gaius directed his gaze to Arthur's, and the king smiled at him, shakily. "Are you sure that Merlin never came home?"

Gaius swallowed. "If he did, sire, I never heard it."

…

Arthur curled around Guinevere, who was crying again. George had just left, the perfect servant, and some days she was okay with him, but this was not one of those days. "Shh," he soothed, running his hand through her curls. "It'll be okay."

"I'm not so sure about that, anymore."

"I'm doing all I can," Arthur promised. "There is only so much I can do for a servant."

Guinevere closed her eyes against the word and choked on another sob. Arthur's voice had broken on the word "servant". They both knew the truth.

…

"Sire?"

Arthur glanced up, quill against his lips, to peer at the door. His eyebrows raised at the sight of his knights. "Yes?" he asked.

It had been Mordred who had spoken. He shuffled nervously now, and so Leon took pity on the poor thing and stepped forward. "We haven't looked in one place, sire-"

"No," Arthur said, barely a breath. He pushed aside the documents on grain to tug the map closer, refusing to believe that Merlin could be anywhere near that place. "I didn't want to think…"

"We have nowhere else to look…"

"It's surrounded by magical enchantments to prevent anyone from going through- we've never been able to reach it," Arthur pointed out. He bit at the feathers on the quill as he thought.

Percival said, "Is it worth that risk? We could be walking straight into a trap."

"Of course it's a trap," Gwaine snapped. "But it's Merlin, and we've let this go too long."

Arthur agreed, but he didn't say it. "I've done everything I know to do."

"You could call in a sorcerer," Percival said, voice soft, and all eyes snapped to him. "It's all we have left."

"Magic is illegal," Arthur said. "And I will never use it again."

"Sire," Mordred said. "If I may…"

"What is it?" Arthur asked, trying to keep his voice level. Mordred was skittish on the best of days, and with his emotions so obviously high, it was best not to scare him off.

"I grew up with magic," Mordred said. "I know people who are superb trackers, if we had something that used to belong to Merlin, perhaps we could find him if you swear to let the person go afterward."

Arthur lowered his eyes. He bit more at the tip of the quill, an awful old habit that Merlin had broken him of ten years ago, but he'd picked it up again in the man's absence. "I'll think on it," he muttered at last, and Mordred bowed in acknowledgement. "Dismissed," he said.

The knights left, but- "Mordred," Arthur called.

With a clap to the shoulder, Elyan slid by the druid, the door just slightly open behind him. Mordred glanced back worriedly, but turned back to the king. "What do you know about this place?" Arthur asked, gesturing to the map with the quill.

"I know Morgana has made frequent use of it in the past," Mordred said carefully.

Arthur's heart stopped. "Morgana?" he repeated. "You're saying that Merlin could be with Morgana?"

Mordred nodded, slowly. "I've suspected it for a long time, sire, but since we've never had much luck with finding her I didn't think it was necessary to bring to light. To be frank, I am surprised that no one brought the idea up sooner."

Arthur had thought about it. Merlin was told everything about the whole of Camelot, from the stocks of livestock to petty rumors about the stable hands to some of Arthur and Guinevere's most personal of secrets. There was little the man couldn't access as the head servant, and such knowledge falling into the hands of his devilish sister made him want to scream. That aside, Merlin was one of his closest friends, not that he'd ever say as much, and the idea that he might be dead or worse by her hands made his vision go red.

"Thank you, Mordred," he said tightly. The druid bowed and walked away, shoulders back and head held high, but Arthur didn't miss the shaking hands.

* * *

 _I beg, right now. Send me prompts. Anything you want to see in this story, I'll see if I can make it happen. Bombard me with your ideas and speculations!  
_


	3. The Secret

_Chapter 2, hooray. Already got my next few scenes with ch. 3, so will likely have that up tomorrow. Maybe._

 _I came to the conclusion that I can't give an accurate depiction of Merlin's plight without the views of a magic user, so Mordred is the obvious choice here. The point of views with switch between Arthur and Mordred only._

* * *

 _Six Months Ago_

Mordred, sitting in his chambers, was writing. He wrote every single night, always to Emrys, always all the things he wished he could say. Everything he thought Emrys would like to know.

From court gossip to whether or not the citadel came under attack from minor sorcerers that Mordred would dispatch of, he wrote it all down. He listened, paid attention, and committed every day to memory for the evenings so that he might find some peace.

It never worked, of course, because he couldn't feel Emrys nearby, couldn't draw even the slightest comfort from the magic that seeped from the man. It was sickening really, how dependent he had become on Emrys after the incident with the Disir, and then he was gone. Just like that.

He put the quill into the bottle and blew over the parchment, drying it with the slightest amount of magic.

He rolled up the scroll and tossed it into a drawer of the desk, along with several others. And then, when the drawer was full, he tossed the entire collection into the fire.

He's done it every month for a year.

He opened the wrong drawer on this night, however.

He swallowed at the sight of one of his old drawings, of Emrys with the rest of the knights, cutting up and laughing, and he felt himself break a little more.

Whoever said falling in love, even unrequited, was better than having nothing, was completely wrong.

…

He fought with the same ferocity as Arthur these days. One year ago, he would have been distracted by the steady sound of a stone on a blade or the kinks of chainmail and pliers, coming from the side of the training field, where he knew Emrys was watching him always.

It used to make his skin crawl but he'd give anything to have that unsettling feeling back.

His sword clanged with Arthur's, and his muscles strained under the collision. They've been at this for over five minutes, and he could feel the exhaustion beginning to set in.

It was time to end this.

Taking advantage of the strength of Arthur's blade, he let Arthur fall into him as he relaxed, and Arthur stumbled forward in shock as Mordred darted around and brought his sword to Arthur's throat from behind. "I do believe you've been defeated, sire," Mordred said cheerfully, and Arthur nodded as Mordred stepped away.

"Indeed, I do believe so," he agreed. "Nicely done, Mordred," he continued. "Take the rest of the evening off, you've earned it."

"Thank you, sire," he said.

He bowed, and Arthur turned away, and Mordred let the smile fall from his face as he walked back to his tent. As soon as the flap closed behind him he threw his practice sword to the side and scowled. It was getting easier and easier to beat Arthur, though he and Gwaine remained the only ones capable of doing so. And even then, they could only do it once in a while, though Mordred had managed it twice in the past week.

It wasn't even two minutes after Mordred had taken off his armor that he heard a voice at the edge of his tent, "Mordred?"

He looked up from his now-folded cloak and knew he could hardly refuse to see the queen, even though he had less than no desire to see her. "Yes, come in," he called.

She swept in and took one look at his face, "Mordred," she said warmly. "I've heard you've done well this week."

He nodded, his mask sliding smoothly into place. "Thank you, my lady," he said, allowing a flush of embarrassment to come to his face as he ducked his head. She smiled at him.

"There was something I wanted to talk to you about…"

"My lady?" he inquired, a bit confused. As he looked up to meet her eyes, he noticed the tears swimming in them. "My lady!" he repeated, and reached out, then stopped, uncertain whether or not he could comfort her in any capacity.

She took a deep breath and asked, "Were you aware that today is Merlin's birthday?"

He swallowed. "I was not," he said carefully.

Gwen let out a little laugh. "Arthur has been avoiding all talk of Merlin for the few days, and you seemed to have some kind of connection with him so I thought you would be inclined…"

If by "some kind of connection" she meant "utterly besotted," then sure, he thought sourly.

Nevertheless, he just nodded. He wasn't sure how much she knew of he and Emrys.

She smiled again, but it was sadder this time. "I know you're in love with him," she said, and he heard it as if underwater. The blush on his cheeks was completely real this time, and he lowered his hands to pick at his fingernails.

"H-how…?"

"I saw how you were when you came back after that mission, Mordred. And I saw how you looked at him when he wasn't looking," she explained, voice soft. "I remember looking at him the same way once, a long time ago."

He was surprised, and it showed, because she laughed. "Everyone falls for him eventually," she explained. "And usually he can get you to fall out of love with him before he even notices you fell in the first place." Her eyes twinkled, "It's almost like magic," she said, and he jolted, tripping over himself to get away- away…

She held her hands up, placating. "I've known for eight years about his magic, Mordred, you needn't fear for him," she said. "But my question is- how do you know about his?"

He struggled to come up with a better reason than that he could feel Emrys' magic saturating the air and has always been able to do so, from the minute he stepped foot in Camelot. "Unless you have magic, too," she asked, and he felt dizzy. She noticed and her face fell, remorse filling her eyes. "Mordred," she said. "I won't say anything, I promise."

"You're the queen," he mumbled. "Your job is to uphold the laws of Camelot."

"That's Arthur's job, not mine," she said. "Mine is more to take care of the people, and you've been a knight for over a year without mishap, so I don't see a problem with you."

He swallowed. "Thank you, my lady."

She reached forward and grasped his hands in hers, which were cold. "He'll be alright," she said. "You've got the power to find him, don't you?"

"Believe me, my lady," he said miserably, "I've tried."

Her eyes dimmed slightly, but she forced a smile onto her face anyway. "I had to ask," she said.

"It's okay," he said, and he closed his eyes against the building headache.

"I'll let you be, for now," she said.

"Thank you," he whispered, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek before leaving.

He had no idea what to do.

…

 _Five Months Ago_

Not even the druids knew where Emrys had gone.

Mordred wandered through the forest, feeling a bit lost. It was odd, having to live in Camelot without Emrys to also comb through those halls. Every passing day meant that the magic surrounding Camelot from a magical attack weakened, and Arthur didn't even know those vital protections existed. Mordred fed the lines every morning with his magic, but it was exhausted and his power was nothing compared to Emrys'.

The only consolation he had was that he knew for certain he wasn't dead. It would have resonated throughout his mind if Emrys had died, connected to the Old Religion as they both were.

He stepped on a twig and froze, listening. The footfalls came closer, and within moments he found himself surrounded.

Arthur lowered his sword when he saw who he was pointing it at, however. "Mordred," he said. "What are you doing out here?"

Mordred rung his hands, not exactly wanting to admit that he'd been practicing magic to try and locate Emrys, again- not that his efforts ever had an effect. He was blocked. "Looking for druids, sire," he said in a rush of inspiration. He knew that they had no idea where Emrys was through telepathy, but the king didn't have to know that part.

"What a coincidence," Gwaine said cheerfully. "So are we."

Mordred looked to his fellow knight in surprise. Then he glanced back to Arthur, "So you decided to seek their help?" he asked, not really a question.

Arthur nodded anyway, looking around. "Can you help us to find them? I know you druids have this- thing- that you do," he said, gesturing wildly to represent this "thing."

Mordred stifled a laugh, but it seemed like Arthur caught it anyway because he scowled at him. "Of course, sire," Mordred said agreeably, composing himself.

 _King Arthur Pendragon seeks your help,_ Mordred called, beginning to walk back to where he'd been- a location of the Old Religion, where magic ran strongly.

 _Of course,_ Iseldir responded, _Come to us, Mordred._

The knights and the king followed him without a thought to the contrary, which both irritated and humbled him, that they trusted so easily. Emrys was more astute, and though Mordred didn't understand the man's wariness, he knew logically is was because of the vague whispers Mordred had had plaguing him about destiny his whole life.

It hurt. It hurt a lot.

He wondered, if when he saw Emrys again, if he could turn the man's opinion around. There were certainly hints that Emrys might've been warming up to him before he disappeared. Mordred could disprove destiny itself. After all, he's gone a year without him and made no move against the king. He couldn't fathom why it would change, since Emrys' loyalties certainly would never shift, and Mordred's lay with Emrys alone.

The forest was quiet save for birdsong, and the knights moved after him with a surprising softness to their steps. Of course, it was nowhere near as quiet as Mordred's steps were, but he appreciated their effort nevertheless.

The cave came nearer, and he could hear the faint sound of running water. There was a waterfall near the cave where this particular clan of druids lived for the time being.

He stopped a league away, turning around to face them. "Do try to not destroy relics or religious artifacts that may hang from the ceilings or the walls. The druids will be significantly less likely to help," he said, trying to be quiet about it. Arthur nodded, looking like he caught only half of what Mordred said.

But Arthur said nothing more than, "Okay," and so Mordred turned around and started walking again.

"Iseldir?" Mordred called, entering the cave. The knight's footsteps were definitely too loud on the stone floors, and he inwardly winced at the sound of the chainmail, a stark contrast to his cloth breeches, shirt, and cloak that were typical of druids.

"I'm here, Mordred," the man in question said, emerging from the shadows, lowering the hood of his cloak as he did so. Mordred bowed lightly in the presence of the chief, and he heard Arthur and the other scramble to do the same. Iseldir kept his face carefully composed, but Mordred had known the man long enough to see the start of a smile curling at his lips. The chief turned to Arthur and bowed, saying, "Arthur Pendragon. We've been waiting for you."

Arthur looked vaguely unnerved, but Mordred noticed this every time the man had to deal with druids beyond Mordred, so he wasn't terribly concerned about it. "Right," Arthur said. "We're here-"

"To look for your manservant, Merlin," Iseldir finished, nodded. "Of course. This way."

He turned without any further fanfare and walked deeper into the cave. Mordred followed automatically, deliberately ignoring the looks the others were shooting him. To them, such a way of speaking and behavior was off-putting, but to Mordred, it felt normal. Natural. Like home.

Sometimes he missed the presence of magic in the air and the Triple Goddess so much it hurt.

The relics, like Mordred had assumed, began to appear the deeper into the cave they got. Arthur and Leon were clearly out of their depth, but Elyan, Gwaine, and Percival, all travelers, were a bit more adjusted to the situation.

Other druids were barely seen, and Mordred only met their eyes through years of practice, and they either stared or blinked, but no words were spoken, even telepathically. The voices of his people were harder to reach with each passing day.

Iseldir led them to a scrying orb, which he knelt in front of. He gestured to Arthur, beckoning. "What?" Arthur said, too loudly, and Mordred winced visibly this time, face scrunching at the blatant disregard.

"Come and kneel next to me," Iseldir explained patiently, holding his hand out. Hesitance lining his every move, Arthur knelt, and Iseldir placed Arthur's hand on the orb, instructing, "Concentrate on who you need to find," with a careful, level voice.

Arthur closed his eyes.

Mordred leaned forward, staring into the orb, waiting on a baited breath. Maybe, if the Once and Future King-

Arthur pulled back, pressing his hands to his head. "Ugh," he muttered. "That- it's awful. What happened?"

Iseldir, hiding his desperation valiantly, asked, "What did you see?"

The king shook his head. "Fog. A lot of it. Rain? Maybe?"

But Iseldir shook his head. "You have no skill for this, sire," he said bluntly. "Mordred, if you could…"

Mordred dropped to his knees in front of the orb without further instruction, pressing both his hands to it. Mental magic was his specialty, and when Arthur and Iseldir placed their hands back on the orb, he thought only of Emrys, of his magic, of the way Emrys made him feel like maybe he wasn't all alone in the world-

There.

Mordred kept his eyes closed, allowing the vision to be muggier for it, should the knights see his eyes glowing gold. He searched through the crowded forest he found, and he saw a lone building, built against a mountain, and the more he looked the more buildings appeared. Or, rather, they looked like buildings, but the clearer the vision became the more he realized they were more like tents, though how that could be he didn't know beyond the logical assumption- magic.

He swallowed, delving deeper.

 _Emrys_ , he called. He looked, branching out with his mind, into the only solid building in the vision.

He's got him.


	4. The Fights

_Bit shorter than I'd like, but the next part HAS to be in Mordred's point of view, so here we go._

* * *

Mordred pulled back with a shuddering gasp, and Arthur watched as Mordred collapsed, much to his alarm while Iseldir only sighed. "Poor thing never knows his own limits," he said. "He never has."

"What did he see?" Arthur demanded, standing as the druid did, and helping to get Mordred to the stone where the boy had been sitting earlier. Iseldir shook his head.

"That, I have no way of knowing. Did you see or hear anything, sire?"

"Just birdsong," Arthur answered. "Not helpful at all-"

"No," Iseldir interrupted, and Arthur was getting damned tired of being disrupted in the middle of his sentences, "That's quite helpful, actually. Morgana's magic is dark, twisted. Animals tend to avoid such magic, so that you heard birdsong means she was not there."

Arthur felt like he could faint with relief. "And you? Did you see anything?"

Iseldir shook his head, only saying, "Nothing of interest," quite evasively.

He remembered, very suddenly, why exactly he hated working with druids. They never were very clear.

His lips thinned but the chieftain took absolutely no notice, favoring to look after Mordred instead. And while Arthur couldn't fault the man for doing so, it would have been nice to be acknowledged. "How is he?" Arthur asked, kneeling next to his fallen knight.

Elyan, already pressing his hand to Mordred's forehead, said, "He's very chilled, sire," with worry leaking through his voice. He turned to Iseldir, "Why is he cold?"

The druid shifted, and said nothing, so Arthur pressed by repeating, "Why is Sir Mordred cold? All we were doing was staring into a crystal."

"With all due respect, sire, I was attempting to find your servant, which takes a lot more than just looking," Iseldir snapped, then paled. It appeared that Arthur wasn't the only one under high stress, though why the druid cared so much for Merlin was beyond him. He let it slide because Iseldir really was only trying to help, and to repay the man to whom he already owed so much with death wouldn't be right.

He ignored the obvious implication that Iseldir was doing magic and instead repeated his question again.

Iseldir regarded him silently for several long moments before he said, "Mordred has always been ready to throw his life source into dangerous things, sire. He is cold because he drained himself."

Arthur had a very terrible feeling, very suddenly, that he knighted a sorcerer.

He looked to Mordred again, the boy was lying against the wall, completely out of it, because Arthur had asked for his help. He had given it willingly, never questioning, never hesitant. And he had been doing so for well over a year. Arthur tried to swallow but his mouth was dry.

He loved Mordred like a brother, and the boy had never, not once, showed ill intent toward him, even when he was allied with Morgana. "He has used all his magic, hasn't he?" he asked Iseldir, voice even and flat. Iseldir flinched, barely visible and had Arthur not been looking for it, he would never have seen it. That was all the answer he needed. "Thank you for your help, but we will continue without him. When he wakes, inform him that he has been stripped of his knighthood and has been banished from Camelot. If I see him again, I will kill him."

He stood, and he walked out.

It took a while for the other knights to join him, but when they did, they were solemn and silent, and Arthur couldn't bring himself to feel anything.

…

When he told Guinevere what happened, she covered her mouth with her hands and started to cry.

"You banished him, just like that?" she demanded.

He whipped around. "Don't tell me you knew!" he shouted, and she winced at the volume. He calmed himself immediately, reminding himself that he was not his father and he would not be a tyrant. "I'm just happy I didn't run him through," he muttered.

"He's been so loyal to you, Arthur," she scolded. "And he's just a boy! How could he have any time to become corrupted?"

"He's also a druid-"

"The druids have been pardoned, don't you dare back down on that promise now, Arthur Pendragon."

Her hands were on her hips and he felt himself shrink under her fierce glare. "You had better find that boy and apologize. He never did anything to you."

"It's only a matter of time before he does!" Arthur cried, sitting down in a chair. He slumped forward and buried his head in his hands. "I can't bear to watch another of my friends betray me."

"And you really think Mordred ever would?"

His lips thinned. "Magic is evil, it corrupts-"

"And those are Uther's words, not yours, Arthur," Guinevere said sternly.

He glanced sharply up at her, eyes narrow. "And since when did you start caring for magic?" he demanded.

She shrugged helplessly, eyes going from fiery to sad in a heartbeat. "Mordred is not the only good sorcerer in the world," she said sadly. "There was the one who saved my father, after all."

"The actions of one do not excuse the rest of them-" he snarled, and she regained her passion with this sentence.

"And has it ever occurred to you that the sorcerers you meet are the ones who have nothing to lose by revealing themselves? That they are so desperate as to give their lives for their people? And those who wish only for peace are the ones who hide?"

Arthur stared at her, flabbergasted. "I- what-"

"Think on it, Arthur," Guinevere said tiredly. "This is the only time I want this conversation; you know how much I hate to fight."

He nodded as he stood, gathering her into his arms. He couldn't bring himself to stay angry. Instead, all his shock and feelings of betrayal bled out of him, leaving him feeling strangely empty.

He wished Merlin were here that he could inquire as to what the servant thought about magic. He never knew what kind of answers he would receive from Merlin when it came to that particular subject.

But for now, he just kept his arms around his wife and pondered her words.

… _Those who wish only for peace are the ones who hide…_

…

 _Four Months Ago_

Though Arthur had tried to look, Mordred was gone like a fog after a sunrise.

And though he tried not to, he also felt wretchedly guilty over the whole thing.

He not only let go of one of his most loyal knights, he also let the only lead to Merlin slip through his fingers. He wanted to scream and cry in frustration. And Iseldir had not been welcoming when Arthur went back two days after Arthur had essentially thrown Mordred to the dogs. He had turned them away and sealed the cave from their eyes with powerful magic. He has not heard from druids since.

The other knights had taken not to speaking with him beyond what was necessary, and he couldn't even blame them. They had all been attached to Mordred and-

God, he'd been an idiot.

After his conversation with Guinevere, he decided he would consider giving magic a chance. Maybe.

She caved after he told her that.

…

"Gaius?"

The man in question looking up from his book, glasses perched on the end of his nose. "Sire," he acknowledged, pushing the books aside and taking the glasses off. "What can I do for you?"

"I-"

How could he say it?

But Gaius waited patiently, as if knowing that Arthur needed to gather his thoughts. "I want to know more… about magic."

Gaius' eyebrows receded into his hairline.

…


	5. The Kiss

_Normal sized chapter, yay._

* * *

 _Five Months Ago_

Mordred woke up sick.

Hurling, he leaned to the side and panted, tears blurring his vision as Iseldir ran his hands over Mordred's shoulders. "Easy," he murmured.

"'t happened?" Mordred managed, coughing. "Arthur?"

Iseldir didn't respond, and neither did Arthur or any of the knights. Mordred sat up slowly and looked around, peering at the various people hiding in the shadows, but no flash of red or silver was to be seen. "Iseldir?"

The chieftain lowered his eyes, "It seems the king is a bit more perceptive than we've been led to believe," he said carefully. "He knows of your magic."

Mordred's breath left his lungs abruptly, and he felt like he was going to throw up all over again. "What?" he whispered faintly, swaying on the stone. Iseldir reached out and managed to keep him upright.

"You've been banished, Mordred," the man said quietly, peering into Mordred's eyes with barely concealed worry and stress. "I'm so sorry."

Mordred felt the tear fall from his eyes and he wiped it away furiously, jaw clenched. "Did he have anything else to say?"

"Only that if you're seen again he will kill you."

The betrayal was sharp and painful, and he leaned his head in between his knees, breathing heavily. He felt like his whole world was collapsing in on him. His eyes burned fiercely and he swallowed.

"Is there anything I can do?" Iseldir asked.

Mordred shook his head. "I'll be fine. I just need to find Emrys and it will be fine."

Because that's all that mattered now.

Iseldir leaned forward. "Did you see him?"

He nodded. "He's gravely injured, dying, but he's alive for now. I know where he is, vaguely, but not how to get there-"

"Do you have anything of his?"

Mordred smiled, lifting his head to reach into his pocket. He tugged the neckerchief free, handing the ragged fabric to the other druid. Iseldir began to chant, and then the map became clear in Mordred's mind.

"Thank you," Mordred breathed.

Iseldir bowed. "Bring him home."

…

He stayed for a week, but he knew he had to leave. Iseldir, saying, "You're always welcome here," had sent him off with enough food for another week and a water skin.

Mordred left behind everything else. He didn't head back to the citadel for anything- not his incriminating letters, not his drawings, not his clothes, not anything. He swept into the night as he heard footsteps, and saw the flashes of red through the trees as Gwaine and Elyan came to plead his case. "Just let us see him, see how he's holding up-"

Mordred didn't have to listen to know what was said. Iseldir turned them away.

Silently, he stepped lightly over the roots and the leaves, moving as fast as he dared so late at night. There was only one place he had in mind; The Forests of Wychwood.

…

As the sun began to peak over the horizon for a sixth time since he'd been abandoned, Mordred came to a stop at a stream. He knelt next to it and ran his hand over the water, not trusting that this far from Camelot's citadel that the water wouldn't have been poisoned by bandits searching for an unlucky deer.

Lucky for him, it was safe, so he cupped his hands and drank as much as he dared before he heard the footsteps again.

Not even bothering to hide- they must be confident, or stupid. He wasn't sure which.

He stood, and turned around, drawing his sword and readying his magic.

"Mordred," she purred, lips curled into a smirk.

"Morgana," he hissed, heart hardening at the sight of the cruelty in her eyes and the hatred on her face as she stared at him. He would find no ally with her, not anymore.

"What are you doing so far from my dearest brother, hm? Come, little one, don't tell me he's given up on you?" she taunted, and he regarded her without replying.

Her eyes flashed in the rising sun in her fury. "Mordred!" she shouted suddenly, and between one blink and the next she was close to his face, their eyes level. "You'll do well to answer me," she said softly. Her nail scraped along his cheek, and he grit his teeth. "Come, my love, just talk to me."

"I have nothing to say to you, not anymore, Morgana," he stated plainly. If anything, this response only further sparked her ire, as she pulled back and even her dark, wild hair seemed to bristle.

"Then I have no use for you at all," she said darkly.

He threw her backwards before she could begin to chant, and he gripped his sword tighter before charging and running her through.

…

Blood.

There was so much of it, and he felt kind of sick.

He plunged onwards, however, on a steady pace to the east.

Mordred knew better than to think he could kill a High Priestess of the Old Religion without an enchanted blade, but he sure gave it his best shot, his grief and desperation fueling his every movement. She'd been unconscious when he finally realized what he'd been doing.

He felt like a monster.

Thinking about it, he turned and began to throw up again, this time into a bush, heart racing and he felt the dehydration begin to take hold of him. He felt dizzy and faint.

So it wasn't entirely a surprise when, a half hour later, he saw black spots at the side of his vision and his eyes rolled back in his head.

…

He woke with a jolt some time later, heart pounding and senses on high alert.

The world rocked underneath him and he hit his head on something hard behind him. It was in this moment that he realized where he was.

He'd been caught by slavers.

Cursing up a storm in his head, he looked around, trying to focus on anything that might help.

The door was locked and though he had chains around his wrists, they evidently hadn't thought he'd be a sorcerer. They fell off quietly with a thought, and he laid them on the floor of the carriage gently. He then peered out the side of the cage, taking in the forest and the barely-visible path behind them. One man rode on a horse, but he wasn't really watching Mordred, so he took the opportunity to slide from one side of the cage to the other, settling in on the bench. He poked at a pile of blankets and felt the shock immediately.

Emrys.

He glanced out of the cage again, but the man still wasn't watching, too busy doing something Mordred really didn't want to think about ever again. He looked away, disgusted.

He reached out with his mind, and though the signature was very weak, he found Emrys' and prodded it, and the pile of blankets shifted. He rested his hand on the blankets, _Keep silent, Emrys. We're being watched._

Emrys opened his eyes. Unfocused and a dull gray, they took a moment to settle on Mordred. When their gazes finally met, Mordred treated him to a smile and Emrys looked astounded.

 _Mordred?!_

Mordred ran his fingers through the dirty, dark hair and poured as much healing magic into the action as he could spare. _Hello, Emrys._

He jumped a bit in surprise when Emrys fell forward, resting his forehead on Mordred's chest. _It's been so long,_ Mordred heard. _I thought…. Mordred. Why are you here? Where are the knights? Arthur?_

Mordred shook his head, resting his hand on Emrys' back, easily able to feel every bone. _Arthur discovered my magic about a week ago… he threw me out. I have no idea what has happened to them beyond that._

… _I'm so sorry, Mordred. You didn't deserve that._

 _It gave me the opportunity to find you,_ he thought back with a shrug, resting his chin on Emrys' head.

He wondered if the warlock could feel his heart racing, could feel his magic's desperation. Some part of him rebelled at the idea, so adjusted to keeping secrets, but another…

 _Thank you._

Mordred was pulled from his thoughts as Emrys fell into a deep sleep, tension bleeding from his body like water. He scrambled to keep Emrys from falling, but with some maneuvering, he managed to get a decent hold on him. He tightened his hold when the slaver riding next to them came closer to the cage, looking in. Mordred did what he had to.

He met the man's eyes boldly, and he allowed his eyes to shine as he delved into the man's mind. The man let out a choked cry- or rather, he would have, had Mordred not silenced him. _Everything's fine, in order. Both of your prisoners are asleep. You never saw that I have magic._

The man nodded stupidly and Mordred wrenched himself away, watching carefully as the man kicked his horse into gear and rode level with whoever was in the front of the carriage. He heard the low murmur of voices and he slumped against the bars of the cage, closing his eyes.

He had Emrys. All that was left was to get them both out of here.

…

 _I've been moved a lot, actually. That's probably why you never found me._

Mordred nodded in understanding, continuing to pour healing magic into Emrys' weak body.

It had been three days since he'd woken and found Emrys, and since then, he hasn't bothered to get out. They were heading closer to Camelot, and Arthur was not a man to let such things go. They would be found eventually. Right now, all he cared about was keeping Emrys alive. His life source was steadily improving, and Mordred didn't want to risk anything by breaking free.

He had put the chains back on early that first morning, and for the most part they were left alone. Mordred had figured out that there were only three men, and that they all were inclined to drink in the wee hours of the morning. That was fine by Mordred, as it gave him time to sleep and steal small amounts of berries from nearby bushes by magically undoing all the locks on the cage and walking out.

It was more amusing than anything else, and when Emrys noticed it yesterday, he laughed. It made Mordred's whole day.

"Hey!"

Mordred jerked his head up, blood pounding in his ears. Emrys stifled a cry as his numerous injuries were aggravated. "Sorry," he whispered, and Emrys shook his head, leaning away from Mordred, who mourned the loss for only a moment before the cries started.

"Elyan!" Mordred hissed, reaching, and the dark skinned knight whipped around, face falling in his shock. "Get Arthur."

Arthur, who was killing the leader of the three men, the other two dead in the clearing, turned around and spotted Mordred before Elyan did anything. "Mordred," Arthur said, tone surprised.

Unable to help himself, Mordred pulled back a little, automatically protecting Emrys before he realized what he was doing. Emrys shoved his way to the front of the cage.

" _Merlin_!"

Arthur's voice cracked a bit, but Mordred and the rest of the knights ignored it to pay more attention to Emrys, who reached out of the cage. Arthur met him halfway, gripping his hand. "Merlin," Arthur repeated. "Are you alright?"

Emrys cracked a smile, one of those he reserved for Arthur and Arthur alone, a flash of melancholy flitting through his eyes. "I'll be alright, sire," he said.

Arthur nodded and released him, and Mordred felt the crushing disappointment before it was quickly smothered, and Mordred felt a bit dizzy.

Mordred was in love with Emrys, but Emrys was in love with Arthur.

The king brought the keys over and unlocked everything, including Mordred, who jumped out immediately and turned back around, only to find that Arthur had already helped Emrys down. He kept a tight hold on his heartache and instead helped to set up a camp.

…

Arthur said nothing to Mordred, meaning, of course, that he wasn't explicitly allowed to stay, but he wasn't driven off, either, so Mordred took the seat beside Emrys and allowed the man to lean on him as the servant gave all his attention to Arthur, looking him over and asking question after question.

"How's Gwen? What about that thing with that noble- I can't for the life of me remember what his name was- the one with that nasty mustache, you know- how did that dispute get settled? He didn't try anything, did he? I imagine the smith's wife had the baby already, you wouldn't happen to know anything, would you?"

And it went on, and the knights answered every single question with laughter and patience. Mordred knew of each event Emrys spoke of, but he didn't bother to contribute, only keeping his hand on Emrys' shoulders to continue healing him. Emrys didn't even notice him.

It hurt more and more.

And as the sun is wont to do, it went down behind the mountains, and Mordred stayed awake, curled up in the blankets from the slavers, the ones that still smelt like Emrys; pine, sunshine, and something else like power. He refused to let his tears fall, determined that Arthur and Emrys weren't worth it. This would heal like everything else, and he would move on.

He wasn't allowed back in Camelot anyway, so it wasn't like he was going to see them after this. Emrys would go with Arthur, back to the citadel, and Mordred would go to his people.

"Arthur?"

Emrys' voice was quiet, but Mordred attuned to it anyway. He opened his eyes and peered into the darkness, the embers of the fire providing just enough light to see Emrys inching closer to the king, who didn't even notice.

Emrys darted forward and kissed him.

Mordred felt his lungs collapse as his heart broke, even though Arthur pushed Emrys away. "What-"

"I'm still dying, Arthur," Emrys said quickly. "I had to do it at least once."

…

Arthur and Emrys made no mention of the incident in the morning, though Emrys walked around with a perpetual redness to his cheeks that anyone not looking for it would miss under the grime and dirt of over a year. Arthur gave his servant an odd look more than once during the morning, contemplative, and Emrys would always turn away.

Mordred felt like dying, but that was okay, really. His job was done, anyway.

He grabbed the blankets and folded them. He walked away.

"Mordred!"

He paused, tilting his head and looking over his shoulder at Arthur.

Arthur stopped, swallowing noticeably. "I was wrong," he said.

Mordred furrowed his eyebrows.

"Come back to Camelot," Arthur suggested. "I'll restore what should never have been taken from you."

Emrys, behind Arthur, heard this and stopped in his tracks, dropping the pans he'd been holding and causing a scene. Arthur whipped around, "Dammit, Merlin!" he yelled, and Emrys laughed, sounding a bit too close to tears.

"Sorry, Arthur," Emrys said cheerfully.

Mordred shook his head fondly, but stopped when Arthur turned back around. "You've been nothing but loyal to me, Mordred, and I should never have repaid you in such a way…"

 _Take it,_ Emrys whispered. _Arthur apologizing is a once in a lifetime thing. Come home._

"Okay," he murmured, and Arthur reached out, and they clasped each other's forearms.

Mordred wondered what exactly he was getting into.


	6. The Discussion

_Sorry this is so late! I had no muse today and then kicked myself into gear._

* * *

"More of magic, sire?"

 _Four Months Ago_

"Yes, Gaius."

The old man nodded slowly, looking unsure. Arthur resisted the urge to sigh in exasperation. "Please," he said, and Gaius swallowed, clenching his jaw before he nodded again, more certain.

"Of course, sire. What did you want to know?"

Gaius' voice was steady, but his eyes portrayed something else, and Arthur had to wonder what exactly it was about him that could inspire such a reaction.

"…I want to know about Mordred's power."

Surprise flitted across his features. "Mordred?" The physician was incredulous. "I'm afraid I don't know the boy very well at all, except that he is a very powerful warlock."

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows. "Warlock?" he repeated. "What do you mean?"

"There is a very large difference between a warlock and a sorcerer, sire," Gaius stated plainly, "One of the major differences being that warlocks are born with a natural inclination toward magic, while sorcerers must be taught everything they know. Often, warlocks will display a certain talent in a branch of magic from a young age. Mordred is particularly skilled with the powers of the mind, though to what extent I am not sure."

Arthur nodded his understanding. "So Mordred- he didn't have a choice, did he?"

Gaius shook his head. "He did not, sire."

Now Arthur felt more like a fool than ever.

…

"Bandits, sire, closing in around the citadel."

Arthur grit his teeth at the interruption and the news, looking up at Leon, his First Knight. The man's hair was in disarray, his breath coming in hard gasps as he stood in the doorway, leaning on the wall. "They're moving as we speak, sire. They'll be here within the hour if we do not intercept."

He stood, and Leon looked relieved. "Morgana, do you think?" Arthur checked, and Leon shook his head.

"I doubt it, sire. They are much too scattered. Some aren't even heading to the citadel, but they seem to be coordinating somehow."

Arthur hummed in consideration. "Ready the horses. We ride in a half hour."

"Sire," Leon acknowledged, and dashed off.

Arthur paced to the window and wondered, watching his people wander about their daily lives, talking, laughing, and so alive. He loved them all, and he smiled as a young child raced across the courtyard, his older sister chasing after him, both of them beaming and crying out in delight. His eyes moved to the baker, how he watched the young lady with a needle and thread, and their eyes met. They looked away quickly, but Arthur knew what he saw. His grin widened.

Then it fell from his face as he reconsidered the situation.

He wondered if the bandits had Merlin.

…

The ride was quick, his most loyal knights- Leon, Elyan, Gwaine, and Percival- riding with him. They stopped once when Elyan caught a rabbit, and Gwaine managed to cook it for lunch.

Their conversations were quiet, worried. "What if…"

Arthur turned expectantly to Leon, who flushed, looking away. "Leon?"

"What if we run into Mordred?"

The king tightened his jaw, mind flashing to the dark-haired knight turned sorcerer. "I'm sure we won't," Arthur said, but his confidence was fake and they all knew it. They made no mention of it, however. "But if we do… I would very much like the chance to apologize."

"Finally decided to repeal the ban, princess?" Gwaine asked, tone somewhere between cheerful and threatening. Arthur shook his head.

"I cannot repeal the ban for one good deed when a slew of others have yet to be countered," Arthur said, throat tight. He was still undecided, he had no idea what to do and Guinevere was of little help, insisting that magic was nothing to be afraid of. She had no idea.

Gwaine scoffed and that was that.

…

"Hey!" Percival shouted, and the carriage came to a stop, three burly men hopping off their horses with swords drawn menacingly. There were two figures in the cage that jerked their heads up when they came to a halt, and only Elyan was close enough to see who they were. Arthur knew it couldn't be good that his jaw fell slack.

Arthur redirected his attention to the slavers, and dodged a blow, countering it with his sword. He flicked his wrist and the other man's sword clattered to the ground behind him, and Arthur quickly ran him through. The second man tried to catch him off guard, but Leon ran him through from behind before Arthur could get hurt. He nodded his thanks and Leon's eyes grew wide, giving Arthur just enough time to duck a blow from the third man, turning on his heel and plunging his sword into the man's chest.

He hated easy fights.

He turned, absently wiping his sword clean of blood, and got his first clear look at the first, healthier figure in the cage. "Mordred!" he called in shock, and the man edged away from the cage door.

Arthur's heart broke just a little, no matter how reasonable the reaction was.

Then, as the second figure pushed his way past Mordred, Arthur realized that his former knight had not backed away out of fear, but to protect the person behind him. Arthur's heart stopped as he got a clear look, and he realized why.

" _Merlin_!" he cried, voice breaking, and he jogged forward as Merlin's cold fingers, clearly having been broken in the past, clutched at Arthur's outstretched hand as soon as he got close enough.

Merlin looked awful, and though Mordred did as well, both of them covered in dirt and blood, Merlin was way worse off. He had a nasty gash on his forehead, yellowed and long, that needed treatment immediately. Arthur could see every bone in the boy's face, his wrist, arm, and Arthur wagered that if he could see, he'd be able to count his vertebrae and his ribs, too. But Merlin's eyes were bright, a fond, hopeful look all over his face, and Arthur smiled back automatically. "Merlin, are you alright?"

Merlin's smile widened, eyes lighting up even further, "I'll be alright, sire," he said.

There was something in his voice that made Arthur pause, but he barely let the moment consume him, instead stepping back and watching as Merlin's face fell for the slightest of seconds before the smile made its reappearance.

Odd.

Arthur shook it off, walking back over to the slavers, locating the keys and triumphantly bringing them back, unlocking all the doors and the chains. Mordred, Arthur figured, could handle himself, and he was proven right when the boy simply hopped right out of the cage, giving Arthur the impression that he'd been able to leave all along. So why did he stay?

He reached for Merlin, and the servant clung to him weakly as Arthur helped him down. He swayed a bit on his feet once he reached the ground, but smiled at Arthur when he moved to help, waving him off.

"I'll be fine," Merlin repeated.

…

Arthur deliberately ignored the sorcerer, watching him from the corner of his eye as Mordred watched Merlin, growing smaller and more withdrawn with every passing moment. It didn't stop Mordred from helping, nor from sitting next to Merlin around the campfire, wrapping an arm around the servant, who didn't even notice.

Guinevere had said something about Mordred. About his desperation, and his heartache, and how she'd caught him crying over Merlin more than once.

Arthur dismissed it at the time, but now it seemed so clear, the way the knight felt.

His heart went out to the boy, knowing all too well what it felt like to love someone and be afraid because of it.

…

It was dark.

"Arthur?"

Merlin.

He turned his head to the side, surprised when he found Merlin so close. "Merlin-"

There were lips on his mouth before he could say anything else, claiming the noise and his breath all at once. The kiss was soft, hesitant, and Merlin was clearly out of his depth, but his intent was clear. Arthur reached up and pushed him gently away. "What?" Arthur managed, heart racing, unsure what to feel or what to think.

"I'm still dying, Arthur," Merlin said quickly. His cheeks were bright red, and he wouldn't meet Arthur's eyes. Arthur couldn't help but feel sad for his friend, knowing that he couldn't give him what he wanted. "I had to do it at least once."

Merlin backed away before Arthur could say anything, returning to his bedroll and not facing him.

Arthur grit his teeth, frustrated. He looked around, and his eyes met Mordred's. The druid had tears on his face, more of them swimming in his eyes, ready to fall. His blue eyes were a dull gray.

…

Come morning, Arthur was exhausted, wondering how he got to be in a love triangle he never wanted to be in. He wanted to go home to his wife and leave those two to it.

But Mordred clearly wasn't about to allow that.

It hit Arthur that Mordred didn't know that Arthur wasn't angry anymore.

He ran to catch up, calling the druid back.

…

The seven of them rode back to Camelot, and it was silent.

Even Merlin couldn't bring himself to say anything, and Arthur became frustrated pretty early on. And so, when the citadel cam into sight, he couldn't help but release a quiet sigh of relief.

He rode into the courtyard and handed his reins to the stable boy, who took them all quickly and led the horses away as the knights also dismounted. Between Gwaine and Arthur, Merlin was supported, and Mordred tagged along behind the rest of them as they made haste to Gaius' chambers.

Mordred was there when Gaius first saw his ward, and he was there throughout the entire examination, as if he couldn't bear to leave.

The more Arthur looked, the more obvious it became, and the more guilty and sad he felt.

"Merlin, my boy," Gaius said again, and Merlin was sitting on the table, having his wounds tended, a pained expression on his face as Gaius rubbed dirt from whip marks on his back.

Arthur took that as his cue.

"Mordred," he said softly, and the boy jerked like he'd been smacked, looking away from Merlin for the first time since they got here.

"Sire?"

"With me a moment," Arthur said, guiding Mordred to his feet and escorting him from the room, into the hall. He could feel Merlin's curious gaze as they left.

"Sire?" Mordred repeated when they were alone, looking nervous. He could bolt at any moment, and Arthur, having long since become accustomed to this behavior from this particular man, took no notice to it. "Is something wrong?"

Arthur hesitated. "How well do you know Merlin?" he asked.

"Very well, sire, though I do not believe he pays me the same attention," Mordred replied, tone upset.

Arthur once again paused, and Mordred pressed, "Is this about the kiss?"

Arthur ran his hands through his hair, "Yes!" he burst out, distressed.

Mordred pulled back at little at the volume. "I had no idea he would actually act on his feelings, sire," Mordred said.

"So you knew?" Arthur asked, and Mordred nodded miserably.

"He told me in a fit of sorrow one evening by mistake. We never spoke of it again."

Arthur became tired very suddenly, and he sighed. "Is there any way that you may be able to… talk him out of it? I don't want him pining unnecessarily like some girl and hurting when there is no need for it."

"You mean, you want me to confess to _my_ feelings, sire?" Mordred asked, voice small.

Arthur took a long look at the knight in front of him, folded in on himself and skittish, and while Arthur knew his nerves could get the best of the youth, he'd never seen him quite this bad. Slowly, Arthur shook his head. "That is entirely up to you," Arthur said. "I just-"

"Don't want to accept that your best friend is in love with you?"

Arthur gestured helplessly. "I don't know what to do, Mordred."

"Nothing, sire," Mordred replied sharply, standing slightly. "Merlin has lived with this for some time, and he is well practiced in concealing it and doubtlessly will continue to do so. If you leave him alone, nothing more will come of it."

He regarded the knight. "And you know this well." Mordred flushed, but nodded. Arthur sighed, "And what of you?"

"Me, sire?"

"You are like a brother to me as well, Mordred. I don't want you hurting anymore than I want Merlin hurting."

Mordred shook his head. "I will do nothing, sire. I am fine."

Arthur didn't believe that for a second.


	7. The Questions

_Man, I thought the last chapter was late. So sorry! But I did swear to finish this, so here's the next part. Next will of course be Arthur, as well as all the stuff I skipped from the second month. PLEASE SEND PROMPTS! I'm losing my mind over this one because I never do well with the little things in stories like this._

* * *

Mordred knew the moment he stepped into the hallway with Arthur that Emrys would be listening.

He wasn't wrong.

…

 _Three Months Ago_

Emrys gave him looks that made Mordred terribly uncomfortable, and he'd forgotten what it felt like to be under constant surveillance but now he was beginning to remember. But the gazes weren't as threatening as they used to be, merely more intense in a different way.

"How are you feeling, Emrys?"

The warlock gave him a sharp look. "Don't call me that out loud," he snapped. Mordred raised his eyebrows and the warlock sagged into his bed, sighing heavily. "I want to go back to work," he said.

There was a knock on the door before Mordred could reply, much to his annoyance. "Yes?" Emrys called, a bite to his tone. The door swung open, and Emrys' mouth dropped open in shock. "Mother!"

Hunith was a short woman compared to her son, wearing a green dress with an apron and a headband. "Merlin," she said, a breath. She rushed forward and the two embraced as best they could, with Emrys still bound to the bed. She pulled back first, a hand on his neck, gazing at her son, taking him in. Her face was relieved, if concerned. Mordred felt like he was intruding, so he made to leave.

"I heard that you went missing quite some time ago and just got the news that you'd been found- oh, Merlin, I came as fast as I could…"

Mordred clicked the door shut behind him and leaned against it, the low murmur of voices behind it soothing his headache for a moment. He shook it off and hopped down the stairs, heading to his own chambers.

People flinched whenever he walked by, frightened of his magic, and he tried not to let it get to him too much. He just wished that Arthur would get a move on. Especially, he mused, since he had to watch things like servants dropping full plates, glass shattering and food hitting the floor as soon as he came into sight. His mouth twisted in distaste, and, knowing he would not be welcome if he tried to help, he swept past them.

…

Mordred didn't go to training anymore. Arthur never reprimanded him for it, never called him out on it, so Mordred just didn't bother.

He didn't want to win when his opponent was only allowing it out of fear. That wasn't fair, nor was it helpful, which was the entire point of training in the first place.

And so, because he didn't go to training anymore, he had plenty of time to spend with Iseldir and the other druids.

If he was honest with himself, he didn't really want to do that, either. He wanted to help Emrys, but the man would never let him close now that they were home, so he didn't try.

Leaning against a tree, he sank to the ground, digging his fingers into the dirt as he let his head fall against the bark behind him. He didn't care that he tore a hole in the Camelot cloak. He just closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, listening.

He heard the birdsong, the wind in the treetops, the water falling from the leaves from the night before. He felt the magic in the earth, surging up to meet him, a welcome heat to soothe his nerves.

The only good thing about all this was that he got to reconnect with the world, remember what it was that had made him a druid in the first place.

He hoped his father would be proud.

…

"How are you?"

Gwaine, Mordred mused, was scarily perceptive when he wanted to be. Mordred smiled thinly at the other knight, who didn't look reassured in the least. "I'm quite alright, thank you, Gwaine," Mordred said warmly, but Gwaine merely frowned at him.

"I see the way you're looked at," he said. Mordred flinched.

"They are afraid. I cannot blame them."

Gwaine raised his eyebrows and looked him slowly up and down, making Mordred squirm under the scrutiny. "But you do anyway," Gwaine stated, like it was fact and not a guess.

The druid shook his head. "That does not matter," he said softly. "They are afraid, and they will remain so, no matter what I do, so it is easier to play ignorant."

"I want you to know that I don't care about the magic thing," Gwaine said flippantly. "And I don't think you should be blamed for something you never had a choice in being."

Mordred blinked at him, shocked. "I- thank you," he stuttered, "Thank you."

Gwaine nodded, grinning wildly. "You up for the tavern tonight?"

"My magic tends to lash out when I drink," Mordred admitted, flushing. "So I think I shan't."

"Then don't drink," Gwaine said. "Just join us."

"Who is us?"

The knight's grinned widened. "I think you'll like the collection."

Mordred, though wary, nodded. Gwaine let out a quiet cheer and clapped him on the shoulder, before he stood and took his leave, headed onto the training field.

…

Emrys and Arthur were at the tavern that night, sitting on opposite sides of the table and different corners, but they were there together, in the same room, at the same table, and Mordred felt like it was progress on Arthur's part. But he knew, just from a brief skim of Emrys' surface thoughts, that the warlock felt like it was a failure.

 _He isn't angry with you, you know,_ Mordred said, halfway through the night, when he and Emrys were the only sober ones left.

Though Mordred was watching Percival singing on the bar's counter across the way, feeling faintly amused, he could see Emrys jerk his head in Mordred's direction, finally, finally, tearing his eyes from the king. _I know that. I heard you and him the night we got back._

Mordred grit his teeth. _Yes, I know._

 _I- I want you to know that I-_

"Merlin! Come here, mate!" Gwaine called, barely slurring, but holding onto a laughing Leon with a look of amusement and wickedness. "Help me get him to a room!"

"I'm barely allowed to even be here!" Emrys called back, gesturing to his body, still mostly a mess of bandages. "Get him there yourself! Honestly, don't be lazy like Arthur!"

"Me? Like the princess? Never!"

Mordred laughed quietly to himself and missed the look that Emrys shot him, unreadable, and Mordred didn't bother to reach out to the warlock again for the rest of the night. Emrys, in turn, didn't bother to finish his statement.

…

Emrys introduced him to Hunith the day before she left, and Mordred wasn't sure about the reasoning behind it.

But she smiled warmly and hugged him, much to Mordred's surprise. "So good to meet you, Mordred," she said. "Merlin has mentioned you in letters before."

"Has he?" Mordred questioned, eyes wandering to the figure behind her. Emrys wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Oh, yes," Hunith said. "Especially recently."

Mordred asked, _Why?_ Even as he said that to Emrys, he said aloud, "Well, I do hope I have met your expectations."

"You've exceeded them," Hunith said.

He smiled at her, growing frustrated at the lack of answer from Emrys, and the man's refusal to even glance his way.

…

 _I was unaware that I was noticeable enough for letters._

 _Don't degrade yourself like that._

…

 _Two Months Ago_

 _Mordred?_

His eyes snapped open.

He sat up with a gasp, a strangled cry dying in his throat.

Morgana was in his head, calling to him. _Mordred? Mordred… Mordred? Mordred! MORDRED!_

He silenced the connection as much as it pained him to do so, and reached instead to Emrys, who recently was allowed back to work. As much as he hated to wake the older man because of his need to wake early in the morning, he did it anyway, Morgana's magic settling in his head. _Emrys? Help me!_

 _What? What's going on? Mordred?_

Emrys' voice was clear as a bell, and it made Mordred wonder why the man was already awake before he dismissed it, instead telling him about Morgana.

 _I got wind of her magic this morning,_ Emrys said, voice contemplative. _Can you meet with her?_

Mordred felt a cold wave of fear settle over him. _She sounds angry. She tried to kill me when I saw her last,_ he said.

 _Then never mind. Keep her out for now and we'll tip Arthur in the morning. Would you like me to stay with you?_

It didn't occur to Mordred to wonder why the question was even being asked. He gave his assent and tried to ignore the battering on his mental shield.

…

Emrys arrived mere minutes later, looking worn and still too thin, but Mordred was more than happy to see him. The door was quiet when Emrys closed it behind him, and Mordred stood, unsure of what he was supposed to do or say, if anything at all.

The warlock crossed the room and sat on the bed, tugging Mordred down to sit next to him. "Rest," Emrys instructed, "I can't heal like you can, but shields are easy. Let me help you."

Mordred had no qualms about letting Emrys into his mind. "Alright," he agreed.

Emrys pulled at Mordred until he moved closer, and then Emrys guided the druid's head to his shoulder. "Sleep. It'll be easier that way."

Mordred swallowed, tense. He nodded and tried to breathe in that familiar sunshine and pine scent that still lingered on the blankets he kept in a magically locked chest by the bedside. He found it easily, and he felt a brush of magic on his forehead where Emrys smoothed down his hair, and was asleep within a moment. He did not dream.

…

 _One Month Ago_

Emrys told him the truth.

And Mordred understood.

He understood everything.


	8. The Truth

_Hey. An on-time chapter that was a lot sooner than anyone expected, including yours truly, hahaha._

 _I finally figured out how to fix the enormous amount of plot holes I've managed to write into this thing. It will make the story longer than I expected but that's alright. Who knew the first line of a story could be a plot hole?_

* * *

 _Three Months Ago_

Mordred's words weren't terribly comforting, but Arthur liked to believe they helped anyway, if only so that he could give the knight the benefit of the doubt when he'd failed to do so before.

Merlin was aggravatingly normal whenever Arthur went to see him in Gaius' chambers, acting as though the kiss had never happened. The boy got good at hiding his flashes of melancholy even better than before, and so, Arthur began to believe that maybe it had been a false attraction on Merlin's part- one short, chaste kiss was all it took to break it.

He knocked on the door to the physician's rooms and received no answer.

He walked in anyway.

Merlin's door was open, and he could faintly hear the murmuring of voices, going back and forth and back and forth with increasing ferocity.

"Just stop!"

Merlin's voice rang out strong, clear, and authoritative throughout the rooms, and Arthur stopped automatically at the command. His eyebrows shot up and he crept forward, listening closely at the doorway. There was silence for a couple of seconds before, "Just… I don't mean to upset you, Em-"

"What have I told you?" Merlin cut across the familiar voice. "Let it be. I don't want to talk about Arthur and my feelings anymore. You come here to help me heal and then you destroy my mind. What is your goal here, exactly?"

"I just want to help."

"Then help me by leaving me alone."

Arthur had never heard such blankness. Such…cold detachment from Merlin before. His voice sounded like he was numb to whatever was going on, and completely disconnected from his brain. Whoever sat in front of him must have sensed the same thing because Arthur heard the scraping of a chair. Arthur scrambled back to the door of the physician's chambers as another statement reached his ears, "As you wish," which was odd. Merlin was a servant.

Mordred descended the stairs just as Arthur pretended to swing the front door open. "Hello," Arthur said, watching the young druid carefully. The boy looked near to tears.

"Sire," Mordred said softly, nodding as he swept past.

Arthur watched him go. Then he turned around and walked up to Merlin's room, which was still bare of his belongings. The man in question was sitting up on the bed, staring blankly at the wall, his bandaged arms outstretched. "Merlin?" he called.

The servant jumped a little in surprise as life flowed into his eyes, flickering to the door where Arthur stood. "Arthur!" Merlin said, shifting to sit up a bit higher. His arms wouldn't allow it, though, so Merlin gave up and instead treated the king to a small smile.

Arthur could see it. He saw the awkward fear and hopeful surprise in those blue eyes and he sighed before plastering a smile on his face, pulling the chair that Mordred had been on toward him. "When is Gaius letting you out of here?" Arthur asked, choosing to ignore the hesitance and the discomfort hanging between them.

Merlin's mouth twisted in distaste. "Another couple of weeks. I'm slow to heal, apparently…"

"Well, I would have thought even getting better would be within your range of abilities but apparently I was wrong."

Merlin's eyes lit up at the comment.

Arthur would like to say that it didn't twist his gut in guilt and worry, but it did, so the point was moot.

…

Arthur noticed when Mordred never turned up to training.

And then he noticed the boy around the town, trying to purchase fruit, only to be ignored by the vendor at every turn. He wished that he hadn't been so rash by banishing the druid, but it was too late now. He walked forward and stood by Mordred's side, causing the vendor to look over. "I believe you've missed a customer," Arthur said lightly, hand on Mordred's shoulder. "I've noticed that he's tried to get your attention for ten minutes now."

The vendor scowled but exchanged curt, anxious words with Mordred until the druid had a bag full of the fruit he'd wanted. Arthur guided him away and kept leading him until they were in a secluded area of the lower town. "I wanted to offer my apologies," Arthur said.

Mordred shook his head. "It's not your fault, my lord."

Arthur wished he could agree. Mordred shook his head when Arthur made to object to his statement, holding his hand up. "Please," Mordred said. "A king ought not worry so much for one man whose penance in life is to live this way."

And Mordred walked away. Arthur found himself speechless as he watched.

…

Telling Guinevere about the kiss was particularly painful; almost like wrenching a curved blade through his abdomen and up out his throat. He couldn't bear the thought of her anger, or her disappointment.

But she just furrowed her eyebrows and leaned forward across the bed, resting her delicate hand on his knee. "Arthur," she said, and he looked up to meet her eyes. She smiled at him. "I don't blame you for being the object of Merlin's affections," she said firmly, and he winced, and her grip on his knee tightened. "No, listen- it's not your fault he kissed you, and I'm not angry. Not with you, not with him. I do believe that he should have known better than to kiss a married man, but I also know that he has longed for you for years. We used to mutually pine for you, though after Mordred entered the picture, I would have thought he would have grown out of that…"

"What?" Arthur interrupted, confused. "Why would he care about Mordred?"

It came out worse than he meant it to, and now Guinevere frowned at him in disapproval. He winced, hurrying to correct his wording, "I just- I mean, Mordred is completely gone on Merlin, true, but I've never seen Merlin look at him twice before-"

"Oh, Arthur," Guinevere said. "He has always looked at Mordred," she paused, "although, I don't believe it was always nicely. Still, I remember when he looked at you like that, and then it changed, and it's changing now, too. Mordred will get his happy ending, and I really do believe you ought to forget about Merlin's feelings for you."

"How can you be sure?" Arthur asked, and watched his wife as she shrugged, a knowing smile on her lips.

"Oh, let's just say it's a woman's intuition," she suggested, and her smile turned wicked. "Now… Merlin _did_ kiss you, and I don't know that I'm entirely comfortable with having him linger on you…"

Arthur smiled back at her, leaning in close, his arms going to her waist. "What do you suggest, then, my queen?" he asked.

She leaned closer. "I can think of a few things," she whispered, and they met in the middle, their kisses hardly gentle from the start. Arthur leaned back, pulling her on top of him, where she pulled at her skirts until they were settled comfortably between them.

"Oh, just get rid of those," Arthur demanded, and started undoing the laces. She laughed.

"As you command, sire," she said.

…

He managed to ignore Merlin for most of the night, and it worked surprisingly well.

Forgetting about it all came easy now that he had permission to do so.

"Sire!"

Leon. Arthur turned on the chair and raised his cup to his old friend, who raised his as well. "Long live the king," Leon muttered quietly, and Arthur's smiled turned more genuine.

"Thank you," he said.

…

"Those bandits are still moving, sire," Leon said the next morning.

Arthur glanced up from the reports the knight had just handed him and met the other man's eyes. "They are?"

"Yes, and they're now moving even more cohesively."

Arthur frowned, and looked over the reports with more consideration. "They're heading to that forest…" Arthur realized. "The Forests of Wychwood. What could possibly be there?"

"I've heard it's haunted, princess," Gwaine piped up, and Arthur glanced at his most wayward knight, frowning at the sight of his feet on the newly polished wood. Gwaine took no notice of this glance, predictably. "Haunted by what, though, is the question."

The king looked at the reports again. _Surrounded by a magical barrier… impenetrable… slavers…_

He didn't really want to find out, but he would have to.

…

Hunith was always a pleasure.

Arthur made sure that he ate in the physician's chambers at least once during her stay, and if it happened to be the night before, well. He was the king, and he felt like he was lucky he got to see the woman at all.

"How have you been?" he asked, and the woman smiled, tired.

"Mostly I've sat at home and fretted, as of late, but I'm much better now that I've seen my Merlin again," she responded, running her fingers through Merlin's hair. The servant didn't even try to duck out of it, instead, he leaned into her, no doubt finding comfort in her presence.

Arthur couldn't really blame him. He did envy him though.

Gaius handed him a bowl and Arthur took it gratefully as the old man settled on the seat next to him, and the four of them sat together and chatted for most of the night. Merlin said little, instead just sitting there with his eyes mostly closed. Arthur didn't mention it, knowing how exhausted his friend must have been in that moment.

…

 _Two Months Ago_

When the curtains flew open without the typical "Rise and Shine!" Arthur thought he'd stepped back into that old nightmare.

He sat up quickly, only to find himself face to face with Merlin, who was about to rip the covers off. He reared back in shock, pulling his hands back into himself. "Sire!" he said. "Whatever you were dreaming about must have been something else. I have never seen you wake so quickly."

There was something off about this whole thing. The statement, the tone, the actions… Something was wrong.

"What?" he demanded, and Merlin gestured vaguely, turning about and heading to the cupboard with Arthur's clothing.

"It usually takes an army's worth of yelling and tugging to get your royal ass out of bed-"

"No, no, not that!" Arthur said impatiently, standing after roughly shoving his covers off himself. Guinevere shifted in the bed, her eyes opening, and he glanced over his shoulder to smile at her sheepishly. She rolled her eyes and then tugged the sheets over her head, disappearing. He felt like laughing and then a shirt hit him in the face.

"Then what?" Merlin asked, dutifully ignoring Arthur's outraged cry.

Arthur petulantly pulled the shirt on and grabbed the trousers in the air, tugging those on, too. "Something's wrong with you."

"You say that every day," Merlin protested, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

"No. Well, yes, there is something generally wrong with you, Merlin. But no, I mean something about today- there's something wrong."

Merlin paused, clenching his jaw. He folded Guinevere's dress in his hands almost absently as he attempted to burn a hole in the floor. "Tell me!" Arthur demanded.

"It's Mordred!" Merlin said loudly, turning to face Arthur. "He heard Morgana last night."

Guinevere sat up abruptly and Arthur felt his world tilt alarmingly. He steadied himself on the bedpost and asked, "What do you mean?"

"She spoke to him," Merlin explained, bending down to grab some of Arthur's laundry.

"How? Was she in the citadel?"

Merlin is the one who rolled his eyes this time. "By the gods, Arthur. No. There's a bit of magic called telepathy, and it allows magic users to speak from one person to another through thought."

Arthur hesitated. The idea sounded absurd and alarming. "And she spoke to him through his mind?"

"Yes. Apparently she was just calling him, but it was enough that he woke up and has one terrible headache today."

"And how would you know that?" Arthur asked.

Merlin never actually answered this question, Arthur realized later.

He just avoided it. Like Merlin avoided everything.

…

"The Forests of Wychwood are completely covered in fog and there are spells that set it on fire if you get too close, my lord," Percival announced gravely.

Arthur blinked dubiously at him. "Pardon?"

"The fog sets itself on fire," Percival repeated, sounding like he didn't believe it himself.

It sounded ridiculous, and Arthur figured that if those words came from his mouth, he wouldn't believe it either, never mind that he just saw it.

Arthur nodded slowly and looked from Percival to Mordred, who looked away. Arthur mentally sighed and looked then to Leon and Gwaine, the two of them looking grim as they stood before him.

"Is there no way in?" Arthur asked, and Gwaine shook his head.

"We looked, sire," Leon said. "We did see one man head through the fog, but he never returned."

"Did you see him clearly?"

"Nope," Gwaine stated. "He vanished as soon as we got close enough. Personally, I'm not sure it wasn't a trick of the light."

Well.

…

Arthur was able to look at Mordred and see a man. A brother in arms. An ally.

That changed when he saw the druid actually perform magic.

He tried not to react too obviously, but he still flinched, and was immediately grateful that Mordred wasn't facing him.

The little girl shrieked with delight as the little gray butterfly landed on her fingers, transfigured from a thin strip of fabric Mordred had had in his pocket. The druid was beaming at her, oblivious to the stares of varying degrees of shock and fear. Many looked to Arthur.

Arthur had no answer for them. He did not call for the guards to arrest him, nor did he arrest the knight himself. He just clenched his jaw and turned away.

Merlin watched Mordred, too, and didn't follow Arthur. The king glanced back as soon as he'd noticed, and found him engaged in a staring contest with Mordred, who eventually nodded slowly and stood. The knight caught up with Merlin and then passed him, too close to be anything other than intentional.

Arthur saw Merlin pocket something before he decided to yell, "Merlin!"

The servant jumped and scrambled to rejoin him.

…

He paced back and forth and back and forth and back and forth for days.

But in the end, he did nothing. Because what could he do?


	9. The Fog

_This was a nightmare, because my file became corrupted in the middle of writing, and I lost it all. This is a brand new version, and I have no idea if it's anything like the original but I seem to have lost the idea I had since I had written it down and foolishly believed it was safe. Hope you guys like it._

* * *

 _One Month Ago_

It was cold, numb.

He felt unbelievably cold.

…

It was hard to believe the voice of reason when all it did was contradict everything you'd been raised to believe or trust in. It completely warped your world and twisted it beyond anything recognizable.

Mordred felt like that now.

"What?" he managed after a long, baited moment, barely a croak.

Emrys made a face and took his hands, holding tightly. "Don't tell me you're surprised. Surely you've heard this before?"

"Of course I have!" he snapped, then wished he could take it back. "I just. I didn't think you would-"

"I know that I must trust in those older and wiser than myself, even though I know they also make bids for power," Emrys said, leaning in closer. Mordred began to feel a bit dizzy.

"Please Emrys, trust in your own senses. Do you trust me?"

Emrys hesitated and Mordred yanked his hands back, feeling the hot press of tears against his eyes. "You ask me to help and then destroy my mind," he hissed, throwing Emrys' words back in his face. The warlock flinched and Mordred pushed down the feeling of triumph. "What is your goal here, exactly?"

"You've asked me why," Emrys said, standing swiftly. Mordred had to look up to see him, and he found the righteous fury emanating from those fierce blue-gold eyes to be more daunting than he expected. "You begged for an answer and you have one that you reject. What more do you want from me? A pretty little lie? I refuse to lie to you anymore."

Mordred didn't know what he wanted. All he knew that this wasn't it. Emrys closed his eyes with a sigh and said softly, "I refuse to lie to you. Not to you."

…

Mordred was still reeling from Emrys' news when Arthur approached him in the market again.

Mordred was also tired of being treated differently. He knew that he told Arthur that his treatment was a punishment, that it wasn't Arthur's fault, but the truth was- he didn't appreciate it. Arthur may not be at fault, but he had the power to fix it.

"When are you going to change the laws?" he snapped as soon as Arthur was in hearing range. The king, and everyone around them, stopped in shock. "You keep me around to provide you protection and do not offer me the same," Mordred continued. "I am proud to serve you and Camelot, Arthur Pendragon, but that loyalty wavers every time I must fight for my rights from your people because they maintain your laws. I am a knight of Camelot, and should be treated as such, not like some monster."

Arthur stood there and floundered while Mordred stood there and waited. Emrys, from behind Arthur, closed his eyes for a brief moment and touched Arthur's arm, causing the king to look over. The warlock said something, something important, because Arthur drew in a sharp breath before stalking off.

Emrys walked to Mordred's side, took his money, and handed it to the smith, who took it absently. Emrys picked up the dagger Mordred had ordered and handed it to him like he was presenting Excalibur to the king. Mordred took it.

Emrys took his arm and walked away, forcing Mordred to follow or be dragged.

The regular market chatter resumed, but Mordred could tell he'd made an impact.

…

"You did a good thing, Mordred," Emrys told him that night.

"I am not so sure," Mordred admitted. "I humiliated him."

"He deserved it," Emrys scoffed. "All you did was bring to light a very important issue."

"And that is?" Mordred asked, unable to find where this issue was.

"That you cannot make exceptions. It's all or nothing. And he doesn't want to lose you."

Mordred wanted to tear his own hair out.

…

"The Forests of Wychwood…"

Mordred wanted to point out that many sorcerers could get past the fog, since it was created specifically for a shelter from the knights of Camelot during the height of the Purge. He had no doubt that Gaius and Emrys knew this as well, since both were not unfamiliar with the ins and outs of magical culture. The Forests of Wychwood were spoken of with reverence among the druids.

But they didn't ask them, and so by some unspoken agreement, they all decided to keep silent.

Because they also knew Morgana likely knew this information as well, and would doubtlessly be hiding there with her chosen few, waiting for the king to get just close enough.

And knowing Arthur, that wouldn't stop him.

…

 _Two Weeks Ago_

"We set out for the Forests of Wychwood in a week's time."

Mordred dropped his gauntlet, and it hit the floor with an obnoxiously loud clatter in the otherwise silent armory. He flushed and ducked down to get it, not meeting anyone's eyes as Gwaine said, "About time, princess."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "How do you suggest we proceed, sire?" Leon asked, stepping closer to the king.

Mordred watched the rest of the conversation, not hearing it. He reached for the magic that saturated the air- Emrys' magic. It bled into the cracks in the stones, the walls still withstanding enormous damage without repercussions because of Emrys' magic. He let it calm him, his racing heart, because Arthur was going to get himself killed, and what could Mordred do about it? Nothing.

"Mordred?"

He jumped and opened his eyes, finding that everyone was staring at him with varying degrees of confusion. "I apologize," he said. "I was…"

"Dreaming?" Gwaine asked jokingly, eliciting a short collection of chuckles from the other knights.

Mordred shook his head, his loose curls flicking into his eyes. He brushed them aside absently, explaining, "Magic sustains this castle. It lives and breathes in the walls, in the ground below it and the sky above. I was merely tapping into it for guidance."

Arthur's expression fell from amusement to disbelief and uneasiness. "You can sense that?"

He nodded proudly. "I am one of three remaining sorcerers that can. Morgana and Emrys are the other two."

"Emrys? He's real?" Percival demanded in shock, and Mordred looked at him steadily, not answering.

He wouldn't.

"Of course he's real," the man himself said, stumbling into the armory. "Just like any other legend, he became real at some point. Or will become real. You know."

"Since when do you believe in magical myth, Merlin?" Arthur asked, looking disgusted.

"Since always," Emrys retorted, gathering Arthur's armor. "Now shoo. I have work to do."

"I'm the king, Merlin, I can stand where I please."

Emrys rolled his eyes. "Fine. When I inevitably drop this, I'll aim for your feet."

Arthur took a step back and the knights began to laugh. Emrys quirked a smile in Mordred's direction, oblivious to the way Mordred's heart stopped at the sight. He looked so carefree, so happy, in this moment, that it took Mordred's breath away. His blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight pouring in the windows, and it was all Mordred could think about. Elyan nudged him.

"You're staring, mate," the dark skinned knight informed, and Mordred hurriedly looked away, much to Elyan's amusement. "I don't think he minded," Elyan said, voice quiet as he poked Mordred again. When the druid looked up, Emrys was looking at him, face unreadable but not unkind.

 _You okay?_

Mordred grit his teeth slightly at the question, trying not to show how it affected him. While he and Emrys were growing closer over the past couple of weeks since Emrys was rescued, it still was shocking to hear any concern for Mordred rather than because of Mordred.

 _I am,_ he whispered back, and Emrys' mouth quirked up into a smile, and then he looked to Arthur.

Who directed that Emrys hand him his armor immediately, he was going to go hack at a training dummy outside. And then he stripped off the shirt he'd been wearing for the court in exchange for a thinner training shirt, and Emrys' cheeks deepened in color, not that Arthur took any notice.

Whatever goodwill he'd been feeling a moment ago dissipated under his disappointment.

…

 _One Week Ago_

Night was falling. The stars began to show themselves in the purpling sky, darker in the light of the full moon. Mordred tilted his face into the wind, unmindful of the stares he received from his fellow knights as he released the reins of the horse and leaned backward slightly to synch his heartbeat to the gusts of wind. He took slow breaths and felt the horse beneath him, felt the trees breathing around him, felt the grass beneath the hoofs of the horse.

He opened his eyes, and the knights pretended they hadn't been staring, and he pretended they hadn't been, either.

Emrys didn't bother to conceal it.

 _You have such freedom._

There was longing in Emrys' voice, a kind of sorrow, and a tinge of envy. _If you reveal yourself you could have this, too._

Emrys took a minute to reply. _I must be awful. I don't trust that Arthur won't kill me._

Mordred was tempted to start screaming. Instead, he said, _Isn't love built on trust?_

The warlock replied with, _I trust him. I just don't trust him with my life._

 _How do you trust him, then?_ Mordred asked, because that made no sense.

 _I trust him with my kingdom, with my friends, with you._

Mordred blinked in shock. _With me?_

He glanced over to the warlock, but he stared resolute ahead and made no reply.

…

The Forests of Wychwood were a long way from Camelot's citadel, and as a result, it took them four days and four nights to get there.

It became darker the closer they got, no matter how high the sun stood in the sky.

Mordred felt no uneasiness, but the same could not be said for the knights. A quick glance toward Emrys proved that he, too, felt no true alarm, but he faked it to appease his friends. It was too well scripted, too obvious to be real. Arthur, of course, did not notice.

"We stay here for the night," Arthur announced on the fifth day.

Mordred tilted his head in consideration. "There's a druid tribe a mile to the east, sire, if you'd rather be warm," he said.

Arthur paused. Leon and Gwaine waited, while Percival and Elyan looked to the east, as if they could find them if they looked hard enough. Mordred almost scoffed at their ridiculousness. As if the druids could be found if they didn't want to be.

"Are they friendly?"Arthur eventually asked.

He shrugged, and reached out with his mind. _Hello?_

 _Hi!_

A child's voice. _Hello, little one. My name is Mordred._

She sent a burst of excitement through the bond, and Mordred winced visibly. Arthur's face took on an expression of alarm, but Mordred just shook his head. "She's young, sire. She's still untrained in restraining her emotions through telepathy."

Mordred asked, _Does your elder mind if we stay with your tribe for a night?_

 _You're a druid. He said he doesn't mind._

 _My allies and I will be there shortly._

…

The young girl was named Emma, and she had a younger half-sister named Aine. Her parents were gone, but that was okay because they were on a mission for the Triple Goddess in the Forests of Wychwood and it was an honor.

Mordred didn't like the sound of that, but he said nothing.

…

The knights, if it were possible, were even more uneasy in the druid camp than they were in the open, unprotected forest. As a result, though Mordred, Emrys, and Percival were well rested in the morning, the rest of them were half asleep.

They stumbled around the camp come sunrise, too tired to even wince as a young boy dropped a vase and caught it midair with magic before it hit the ground. Many of the adults looked nervously to the Camelot knights, but when they showed no reaction, they relaxed.

(The druids had not initially been happy to find that Mordred's allies were knights, right up until they spotted Emrys in the back of the party. Then, it was like a fire was lit inside them, and they were tripping over themselves to make sure they were taken care of. Arthur foolishly thought it was for him. Emrys and Mordred, however, knew otherwise.)

The chief of the tribe kept a steady three-way conversation between Mordred, Emrys, and herself all of the previous evening and it picked up easily in the morning.

 _Did you sleep well, Emrys, Mordred?_

 _Quite,_ Emrys said. _Your hospitality is much appreciated. If there is anything I can do for you in the future, all you have to do is send a note, and I will assist as I can._

The chief stopped dead in her tracks from across the camp. She shook herself and resumed her walk around, pausing to greet everyone as Mordred suspected she did each morning.

 _Thank you, Emrys._

…

They departed soon after dawn.

The fog began to lick at their boots about three miles to the north of the druid camp, and Arthur drew his sword like it would help him. He walked tensely, eyes flickering back and forth, and Mordred almost pitied him.

There was nothing that could help him.

Another mile, and it was so thick that Mordred could hardly see his hand in front of his face. He blinked, pouring magic into his sight, and just about walked into a building.

He turned, and then found that the knights were several yards behind them, fire at their feet, staring.

Emrys stood beside him.

"Hello, boys."

Emrys lashed out immediately, just as Morgana's arcane spell nearly collided with Mordred. He reared back in shock, but Emrys was there, a golden sheet of pure, unadulterated power in front of his hands. His eyes faded from gold to blue, and all was still.


	10. The Understanding

_I hope I made this version of the magic reveal different. I don't believe that Arthur is as rash as many people write him, and so I wrote this chapter with that in mind._

* * *

 _Present Day_

Arthur isn't entirely sure what he's supposed to be looking at.

Because what it looks like, and what it actually is, are two different things, surely.

Except they really aren't, and he knows that. Logically, he knows that.

But that knowledge doesn't help him now.

Staring at his best friend of ten years, Arthur feels the white-hot coil of fury and pain wrap around his heart and _yank_.

His best friend. A liar. A traitor. A sorcerer.

If it weren't for the fire at his feet threatening to burn him alive, he would run the man through where he stands. However, Merlin happens to be standing several yards away, toe to toe with Morgana, with Mordred behind him, and the only one who isn't shocked into silence is Merlin himself.

So Mordred didn't know, then.

Merlin is actually good at something. Who knew?

Lying.

"Hello, Morgana," Merlin says, standing straight. He holds the shield without a spell, or any sign of tiring. Arthur has seen sorcerers cast before. Usually, after two or three minutes of maintaining a spell, they begin to strain to hold it. But Merlin shows no sign of exhaustion, no sign of letting it fall.

"You? You… you betrayed me even more deeply than I ever could have thought!" Morgana screams, and the building behind them begins to shake. Merlin looks up in alarm, grabs Mordred around the waist, and runs right underneath it just as it crumbles to the ground.

Arthur feels even worse now, and he didn't think that was possible. He reaches forward and his feet move closer, and then the fire bites, and he pulls back hurriedly. Merlin is an idiot, and now… two sorcerers are gone, possibly very powerful ones, and so with them, their chance of winning.

Between the dust and the fog, it makes Morgana difficult to see. But he knows she knows they're nearby. He can hear her calls. "Arthur… Come on out, brother… I just want to talk. Is that too much to ask? Arthur…"

He flinches when her face materializes in front of him, and she grins wickedly. "Hello, brother dearest. It's been a while. How are you?"

Her finger trails down his cheek, sharp and framed with jewels that scrape on his skin. He pulls back, but her other hand wraps around the back of his head and the strength of the hold prevents her from getting any closer.

"Sire!" Leon shouts, and Morgana snaps her head to the side, staring at the knight, who moves quickly.

She holds up her hand and he stops in his tracks, his hand loosening his grip on his sword until it clatters to the forest floor. He gasps in a breath of air, but his face is turning blue, and Arthur's face twists. He rears his head back and slams his forehead to Morgana's, and the impact cuts off her spell and sends her spiraling backward, right onto the hilt of a dark gray sword.

…

Merlin is absolutely covered in dust and grime, and Mordred doesn't look much better.

Morgana laughs, hysteric. "I am a High Priestess of the Old Religion!" she cries, pulling herself free of Mordred's sword. "No mortal blade can kill me!"

"I know that," Merlin agrees, deceptively serene. But something burns in his eyes, something dangerous and cold and powerful, and it sends Arthur's brain into a tizzy. He blinks back his shock at seeing the two of them alive, and instead focuses on Morgana, who is stumbling from blood loss.

"But I don't need a blade to kill you," Merlin says.

Morgana scoffs. "What can you do, petty sorcerer?"

He cocks his head to the side. "Petty sorcerer," he repeats. "Hm. I've been called many things in my time, but never has my power been called weak."

He snaps.

And Morgana falls like a puppet with its strings cut.

…

"You survived," Gwaine says, wonder in his voice. The knight pulls Merlin into a hug. "I don't know how, but you survived getting crushed by a tower."

Merlin laughs. "There was a window. It fell around us."

"How did you have time to think about that?" Percival asks. Merlin shrugs as he pulls away from Gwaine.

"I didn't, really. My magic took the least dangerous path and presented it to me."

Silence. Merlin shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Are you any good?"

Everyone looks to Elyan, and Arthur furrows his eyebrows in confusion as Merlin eyes him curiously. "Good at what?" he asks.

"Magic," Elyan clarifies, and Mordred bursts out laughing.

"Any good?" the druid gasps, his laughter swallowing the rest of the words. He leans his head on Merlin's shoulder and the servant pats his head sympathetically, a grin twitching at his mouth. "He's the best in the land," Mordred finishes, admiration thick in his voice. Arthur is shocked by this statement, and figures that surely Mordred, who is known to be smitten with Merlin beyond reasonable doubt, must be exaggerating.

Merlin, however, shrugs. "I haven't met any other sorcerer of my caliber, and these two are the only ones that come close," he confesses, once again patting Mordred on the head and pointing to Morgana.

Or rather, the spot where she had fallen, now empty except for crushed grass.

Merlin's eyes widen, and Arthur feels a cold chill of fear settle into his heart, staring at his servant and Mordred, unable to grasp the meaning of the last several minutes and unwilling to look any further at the proof that Morgana came back to life.

It's happened so fast. Unbelievably so. He closes his eyes and begins to pray.

Maybe Merlin has finally met his match.

…

The servant returns to Camelot in a foul mood, and if Arthur is honest with himself, he is somewhat frightened. The grass had died under his feet when the fact that Morgana escaped had sunk into his brain, and it was clear it hadn't been intentional.

If he had such power over life and death unintentionally, Arthur shuddered to think of what kind of power he wielded when in full thinking capacity and with the burn of intent.

Arthur rides as far from Merlin as possible.

He can't decide if he's more hurt over the lies, or more hurt by the lack of trust.

Because he knows that if Mordred hadn't been in danger of being killed, Merlin would have done nothing.

…

He spills it all to Guinevere as soon as he's home, locked in his rooms, crying in her arms.

It's hitting hard.

"Shh," she whispers, rocking him lightly, hand combing through his blond hair and the other gripping tightly to his shirt. He can hear the tears in her voice as she says, "I understand. It's a lot to take in."

He pauses. Pulls away.

"Don't tell me you knew about him, too," he accuses, and she looks away.

"What could I do? My job is to protect the people- all people, and ever since that sorcerer killed my father, I set aside my fear and looked closely at the people of this country. Druids. Priests. Sorcerers. Merchants. Musicians. Nobles. Kings. Queens," she lists, and she looks him in the eyes as she states firmly, "We all have a kind of magic inside us, whether it manifests as true, raw magic or the power of kindness and hope. It's all magic; and those who can practice the physical magic are left in fear because they're different. I see no justice there, not when the brave knights or intelligent historians are celebrated as heroes for their accomplishments, accomplishments that sorcerers never have the opportunity to make."

Everyone has lied to him.

He's never felt so lost, so betrayed. His wife has harbored a deadly sorcerer for who-knows-how long, his loyal knight gave up his secret in his loyalty to another, and his best friend has lied to him every day for as long as they've known each other. He says this to her, and she softens, cupping his face.

"Can you blame us?"

"What?" he demands, voice cracking. "Of course I can-"

"We could be killed for this."

He stops. Killing any of them brings his heart to his throat, and he nearly bursts into tears again right as he thinks it.

His eyes close. She brushes their lips together, hesitant, but he pulls her close and kisses her desperately, settling her on his lap. "Guinevere," he says, pulling her hair pins from the dark curls, and watching as it falls around her face. He brushes it aside and pulls her face close, connecting their mouths again. She lets out a soft noise, and he swallows it, deliberately not thinking of anything except the taste of his wife, the way she moves against him in short movements, the feel of her skin under his fingertips.

He reaches behind her and pulls the laces, and her dress falls open, freeing her for his exploration.

He takes no prisoners in kissing his way down her face, neck, and chest.

Taking in a sharp breath, he presses his forehead to her collarbone, eyes scrunched tightly. "Come to bed," she soothes, pulling back and standing. He nods, and she strips herself of her clothing as he pulls the curtains shut.

He pokes his head outside. "We're not to be disturbed unless it is a state of absolute emergency," he tells the guard, and waits for him to nod before slamming the door.

…

Come morning, he wakes and dresses himself way before dawn.

He leaves his queen asleep, pulling the blankets up around her shoulders before he leaves and pressing a kiss to her forehead, brushing her hair from her face. She blinks sleepily at him and he smiles softly at her, "I love you," he whispers, and she doesn't come awake enough to reply, but there's a smile on her face as she drifts off again.

He walks away at a brisk pace, destination clear in his mind.

The physician is awake as well, and he jumps slightly when Arthur opens the door, blinking at him. "Sire," Gaius acknowledges, bowing slightly before returning to his bag, packing potions into it.

"Is Merlin here?"

"He did not return last night, sire," Gaius says, frowning. It is clear this is troubling to the old man, and Arthur sighs.

"Do you know where he could be?" Arthur questions, trying to keep his voice light.

He rocks on his heels when the physician fixes him with a blank stare. "No," he says plainly. He turns back to his bag and packs the last vial into it, hefting it over his shoulder. "If you would excuse me, sire," Gaius requests, and Arthur sighs but lets him go.

…

With nothing to do, he returns to his chambers and waits.

Within the hour, Merlin comes bursting in the room, breakfast trays balanced on each hand. Arthur wonders fleetingly if he uses magic to keep from dropping them.

"Arthur?" Merlin asks, confused. He walks further into the room and kicks the door shut behind him. Despite the force of the kick, it closes without a sound. Arthur feels even more like a fool when he realizes this is done every single morning, done only to make sure that Arthur and Guinevere don't startle awake by the slamming of a door and that when they do wake, their dignity is intact, no doorway to the hall, which would invite people to look inside.

"I want you to tell me something," Arthur says, picking a grape off the plate as soon as Merlin sets it down. Merlin nods, hands behind his back and looking nervous.

"You didn't kill Morgana. Why?"

Merlin shrugs. "I meant to. I guess it takes a bit more than force of will to kill a High Priestess, which hadn't occurred to me. The last time I killed one-" His mouth shuts abruptly.

Arthur lets this slide, popping the grape into his mouth. "So Morgana is more powerful than you, as a High Priestess?"

Merlin scoffs. "No, sire. She wishes. I can bend the earth, control the skies and the seas, many magical creatures, and morph time to suit my needs. I hold the power over life and death. I work exclusively without incantations, and most of my magic is pure instinct. Incantations serve only to heighten the power of my spells, but I don't need them to beat her. She doesn't know this."

Arthur eyes his servant dubiously. "Please, Arthur," Merlin says next. "I never wanted to-"

"Lie to me?" Arthur finishes, meeting his friend's eyes. The other man nods.

Picking up another grape, he pushes another chair out with his foot. "Sit," he commands, and Merlin actually follows this order, perching on the edge of the chair without hesitation. "Eat," he says next, and at this, Merlin frowns.

"Sire?"

"Would you rather I arrest you? Because then I can force you to eat."

Merlin picks up a few grapes, but doesn't eat them, instead picking at the skin with his thumbnail. "I'm sorry," he mutters.

"Gaius explained something to me when you were missing," Arthur says, ignoring the apology. He rolls the grape between his fingers and watches Merlin out of the corner of his eye. "He told me there was a difference between a sorcerer, and a warlock. Which one are you?"

"I am a warlock, sire," Merlin says, confusion in his voice and on his face. The anxiety in Merlin's eyes only increases.

"We never did talk about what happened after you were kidnapped," Arthur says.

"No," Merlin agrees slowly. "Does it matter?"

"What happened to you, Merlin? Who was it? What did they want?"

Merlin takes a shuddering breath. "They wanted the identity of Emrys."

Arthur looks at Merlin properly, dropping the grape on the plate, leaning forward. "And why would you know that? And how did they figure that you would know?"

"I get into a lot of bad places at bad times," Merlin says with an ironic smile, before it slips off his face. "They thought I had someone at my back, and they wanted to know if it was Emrys."

Arthur has more questions now than he did before. He frowns, and Merlin winces, beginning to babble, "I don't know who they were, exactly, but I do know that they kept me primarily in a village not far from the Forests of Wychwood. They never entered, because they don't have magic, and they never thought I did, either, because I was very careful never to be caught by someone I intended to leave alive. They tortured me for weeks and weeks and weeks, using all sorts of vile tools. I never gave in. I knew it wouldn't matter if I told them or not, because if I told, I would be killed, and if I didn't I would eventually die anyway."

"Whoa, Merlin," Arthur says, and reaches out, places his hand on Merlin's knee. "Why? Why wouldn't you reveal him? Who is he to you?"

Merlin lets out a laugh. "He is my everything. My past, present, future. I am Emrys, Arthur."

Arthur grits his teeth. "Not even Emrys can help you now," he says, and Merlin's confusion overtakes him again.

"What?" Merlin asks.

"That's what they said when they kidnapped you."

Merlin swears softly.

…

Arthur considers all day, and he gradually sees that Merlin hasn't actually changed all that much.

He finds himself less and less angry.

Because, God help him, he _does_ understand. He looks at the way he treated Mordred and he understands. He looks at his past reactions to magical influences and he understands. He looks back on many statements he's made in the past and he understands why Merlin never could bring himself to say anything. And he hates himself for it because he understands how utterly small and insignificant and hopeless Merlin must have felt, for all these years.

"I want to apologize," Arthur says that evening, when Guinevere is having a late dinner with Elyan and he and Merlin are alone.

Merlin freezes before he resumes polishing Arthur's boots, giving a small hum of consideration before asking, "Why?"

"I can't imagine what it feels like to live under the threat of an axe for being born," he says.

Merlin lowers his hands from the boot to his side, and he stares into the fire. "No, you can't know what that feels like," Merlin agrees. His tone is even and it is clear he isn't trying to be condescending.

"You probably resent me," Arthur says. "If not for yourself than on behalf of your people."

Merlin is quiet for a long, agonizing moment. "I don't, actually," he says eventually, turning to look Arthur in the eyes. It hits the king in that moment that he isn't looking at a servant. He's looking at a king.

"You should," Arthur argues, and Merlin shakes his head.

"If you can forgive me for being born with magic, Arthur, I can forgive you for being born into a prejudiced home without any true education of the history of my people."

Arthur nods.

And Merlin smiles.


	11. The Plan

_This was taking so long to write that I figured I'd cut it where I have it, and get to work on Arthur's part. Hope you enjoy_

* * *

 _I think we've done it, Mordred._

He's been waiting two days for this news.

Heart in his throat, he swings around as his door slams open, and he throws his arms around Emrys as the older man buries his face in Mordred's hair. "We've done it," Emrys says again.

Mordred's eyes flutter closed. He presses closer to Emrys, drunk on his presence and the euphoria of the promise of freedom. He pulls in a breath, slowly, and rests his chin on Emrys' shoulder. "You did it," he objects. "It was all you."

"You stuck by me, by Arthur, steadfast in the face of destiny and fate for over a year. You did more than you think. Your loyalty has paid off, and you softened his heart to the idea of good people and good magic. You did so much, Mordred, just in your patience. Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you so much," Emrys mutters, holding tighter.

Mordred blinks back tears and just breathes. He feels like he could die in this instant without regrets.

Emrys pulls back, and Mordred loosens his hold to allow it. The warlock stares into Mordred's eyes, calculating something only he could understand. It feels like a test, and Mordred begins to hope that he passes.

Emrys leans forward and kisses him.

At first, he isn't sure what is going on, but Emrys becomes insistent, wrapping his arms tighter around Mordred's waist, so there is only their thin clothing between them. He pushes forward and Mordred stumbles backward, finally getting with the program as he buries his fingers into Emrys' hair and responds to the kiss. He feels his back hit the wall and Emrys moves his hands to Mordred's thighs and hikes him up. Mordred wraps his legs around Emrys' waist automatically, and something about this suddenly doesn't feel quite right.

He pulls back, panting, face flushed, and says, "No- no- wait, Emrys- stop. Stop."

Emrys, for his part, stops immediately, letting Mordred down to the floor. "What's wrong?" Emrys demands, cupping his face and tilting Mordred's head up so their eyes meet. His touch is gentle and worried, and so are his eyes, and Mordred takes in a breath and tries to remember why he was protesting everything he's ever wanted. "I- gods, Mordred, I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"What?" Mordred shakes his head, wrapping his hands around Emrys' wrists. "No, of course not. I just. What about Arthur?"

Because Mordred doesn't want to be a second choice. Not to anyone, but especially not to Emrys.

"Do you know what happened to me when Morgana showed up?"

Mordred blinks in mystification, and Emrys says, "The only thing I could think about was you. She was going to hurt you first. She was going to attack you unawares. She would hurt you. Arthur never even entered my mind, not until after we were under that rubble. And it scared me. I thought- dammit, Mordred, I thought I would lose you. My secret, my life, it didn't matter. It just didn't. You saved me, and when I realized that you had only been able to do so by revealing your secret, and that Arthur deemed your distance more important than my life, I realized I couldn't possibly go on loving someone like that."

Mordred grips Emrys' wrists a little harder, and a shaky smile touches Emrys' lips. "I'm not over him," he confesses. "But… I want to love someone who can love me back. I want someone who can give me what I need, without any hesitation or repercussions. I want someone who can accept what I can give and not hate me for what I can't." Emrys swallows heavily. "And if that person could be you, I could learn to love you very easily. I don't want to hurt you anymore, Mordred- you are my greatest equal and I want to find out what kind of people we could be together. I want to build Albion with you by my side."

It's hard to breathe. So he does the only thing he can think to do: he leans forward and Emrys meets him halfway, and this kiss is much more. His eyes close and he leans back against the wall, wrapping his arms around Emrys' waist and just letting himself feel.

…

"Morgana got away," Arthur says, and Emrys scoffs, sulking. Arthur ignores this easily, saying, "We can assume that she's gone back to the Forests of Wychwood, where she has likely has allies and a plan of attack. Any suggestions?"

"We have to draw her out," Leon says, leaning forward, gesturing for emphasis. "We can't fight her for as long as she's behind that fog."

"This is true," Arthur acknowledges, inclining his head in Leon's direction. "How do you propose we do that?"

Leon looks away, lips thin.

"Keep the ban," Mordred says.

Every face swings toward him in shock. Even Emrys seems too astounded to be angry, so Mordred uses this moment to say, "She knows now that you know about the sorcerers in your court. Send us to her under the guise of having banished us. Say publicly that you can't abide by magic, but for our years of loyalty, we can live. Just like you did to me before, only make it more explosive. Have a row in the court square, make some public announcement, whatever- just make sure that we have a reasonable cause for joining her. We'll take her out from the inside."

"She would never believe that I would leave Arthur," Emrys scoffs, but it's weak.

Arthur considers this, then says, "That might work. It just depends on how well you two can act."

"I've worked with her before, and I know she's still the same person deep down. She will sympathize with us, because she believes you've dealt her the same wrong."

Arthur mutters angrily under his breath, but nods. "I'll make the announcement in the morning," he says.

…

Even knowing that Arthur never intended to banish them, Mordred feels a bit weak in the knees in the face of the king's anger, in the way he lets his pent up emotions out on he and Emrys. "You betrayed me, and Camelot, and for that, the penalty is death. But I must acknowledge your years of service, and therefore, you will be banished, not killed unless I or my guards or knights ever see you again. Get out!" Emrys is crying, and Mordred's not far from it as he takes Emrys' arm and runs.

They run until they can't, collapsing in the forest, taking in huge gulps of air. "Oh, hell," Emrys pants. "That was as bad as I always imagined it could be."

Mordred pulls him into his arms and says nothing, for there is nothing he could say. "I'm glad you're with me," Emrys murmurs, "Because I couldn't do this alone."

"We'll get through this together," he promises, resting his chin on Emrys' shoulder.

The setting sun seems more ominous than ever as he watches it from his place in Emrys' arms.

…

The Forests of Wychwood are welcoming to them, the fog eventually disappearing to reveal lush forest, with flowers of multiple colors and lengths bending to greet them. The trees are greener, the bushes more full, and the grass is softer under their feet. Mordred wishes Arthur could see this, see what good magic can do for the earth.

It is this beauty that he lives for, that he has devoted his life to. He makes a promise to the goddess that she will see this life bloom once again, soon.

"I've been here before," Emrys mutters, looking around. Mordred looks around, too, taking in the worn path under their feet, the plants and the birds in the trees, the deer not far from them, drinking from a stream. "I remember this place. Mordred, we have to turn around."

"What?"

Emrys turns to him, stopping him in the middle of the road. "We have to turn around, go back to Camelot, and come up with something else. This place is haunted, can't you feel it?"

Mordred blinks at him dubiously. "I only feel the life in this place, Emrys," he says, and Emrys shakes his head helplessly, clutching desperately at Mordred's sleeve.

"I was here, when they took me. I was tortured here."

"What?" Mordred repeats, his voice sharper now.

"Yes," he says, and points to a tree. "Can't you see the blood splatters? They do bad things to sorcerers here."

Mordred peers at the tree Emrys is pointing to, and upon close inspection, can see what Emrys is talking about. There are scratches like someone tried to claw at it in terror and desperation. The sap drips down the tree, smearing blood spots, and Mordred feels revulsion rise within him, and he takes a step back.

"That wasn't you, though," Mordred asks, and Emrys shakes his head.

"That was recent."

He nods in response, then says, "We've come this far, though. We have to kill her."

Emrys closes his eyes and swallows heavily. "I know," he breathes.

"It's the only way this can stop."

"I know," he repeats. "I just."

And Mordred understands, truly. "We'll be okay," he says. "We just have to have faith- in ourselves, in the goddess."

Emrys nods. "Yes. You're right, of course."

Mordred takes his hand and takes a deep breath. "Shall we?"

…

The building is right next to a mountain, surrounded by tents, just like from Mordred's vision, seemingly forever ago. Curious faces peek from inside the tents, and just as abruptly as they appear, they tuck themselves back inside. No one emerges.

"Morgana!" Emrys shouts into the night, "We've come to talk to you!"

"And what could you possibly have to say that I would want to hear, traitors?"

She's still injured, Mordred notes immediately, and Emrys gestures to the wound. "I will heal that for you if you hear us out."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because we've come to join you," Emrys says. "Arthur's lost his mind, in wake of discovering my magic. He banished us both, and so we turn to you to take down Camelot, to pave the way for our people."

"You speak pretty words, Merlin, but what proof do I have that they are true?" she sneers.

"I'll give you Emrys," he says, and her face falls in shock.

"What?" she whispers, eyes wide. "How do you know Emrys?"

He shrugs, leaning against a tree behind him. "Think about it, Morgana. Who has always been in the perfect position to ensure that Camelot stands with the Pendragons on the throne? As a servant I had access to everything in the castle, and as a physician I often had more plausible excuses to go into places I otherwise should not have been. As the king's servant, I could test his food, I could keep his saddles strong, his armor enchanted with protection spells. I was always at his side, on hunting trips where I could thwart bandits. I had access to his paperwork since it was always on his desk, so I knew everything about every noble in the country. Think about it, Morgana. I am offering you not only the power of the greatest sorcerer in history, but also the easiest routes to dismantle the kingdom piece by piece."

Mordred has to admit that even he had never thought of that, and Morgana seems even more stunned. "You would do that?"

"Of course," Emrys replies, stepping forward. "We were friends once, Morgana. I have not forgotten you. I could love you again."

"I was heartbroken when you betrayed me, Merlin, and you, Mordred. But you seem willing to atone. Perhaps this can work," she says, contemplative. "Come. I want to show you something."

"Let me heal you," Emrys insists, and she nods. He steps forward and presses his hands to her abdomen over the wound, and gradually it begins to mend.

"I never am able to heal myself," Morgana confesses. "I suppose even the greatest sorcerers have weaknesses," she says with a smile.

"Indeed," Emrys agrees.


	12. The Suspicion

_Wow, fuck._  
 _I never imagined this would have such a long gap between updates._  
 _Hopefully you can forgive me. I don't know when the next update will be, but hey, I hope I won't leave it quite this long._  
 _Here's Arthur's portion of things. Mordred next, of course._

* * *

"Sire?"

Arthur looks up, eyes meeting Leon's across the room. "Come in," Arthur says, setting down his pen and gesturing for him to come forward.

Leon seems wary, nervous. Arthur feels concern and nerves of his own running down his spine. "What's the matter?" he questions.

"Sire, I don't mean to suggest - that is, I don't want to - Sire-"

"Leon," Arthur leans forward, setting his hands on Leon's. They're ice cold but Arthur ignores it. "Whatever you have to say, I'm sure it'll be alright."

"How do you know that you can trust Merlin and Mordred to not betray you?" Leon says in a rush, deflating as soon as the words are in the air.

Arthur's stunned, for his part. He had never considered that Merlin, in particular, would betray him. Never. Not even once.

But Leon, who doesn't know either of them as well as Arthur, is bound to be more suspicious. Arthur shakes his head, leaning back. "They won't," he says, hoping his voice comes out strong.

"But, sire, you don't know that," Leon presses, and Arthur holds his hand up, silencing him.

"I do know that," Arthur says. "Merlin has never given me reason to doubt."

Leon's lips are thin, his face stone. Arthur softens. "Trust in them. Moreover, trust in me."

At this, the knight deflates. "Of course, sire. Absolutely."

…

Leon's words haunt him that night, no matter how much he wishes that they didn't.

"You're brooding," Guinevere accuses, rolling over to meet him in the bed. She nuzzles close, her nose along his jaw line. "Talk to me."

"I just need to trust them," he says. Guinevere, bless her, knows exactly what he's talking about.

"It'll be okay. Arthur, they have remained loyal to you. Mordred came back to your side when you banished him, and Merlin has stayed for over a decade despite having reason to leave. Why would they do so now?"

Arthur closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Yes, of course," he breathes. "I just - Leon. He brought up a point. How do I know they want to stay? Did you see their faces when I drove them away, even though we all knew it was a ruse? How do I know they will return friendly?"

"It's like you said," she murmurs, "you need to trust them. When have they actually betrayed you?"

"You're right, of course you're right."

"I'm your wife. I'm always right."

Arthur snorts and Guinevere lets out a little laugh.

…

"We have tracked the bandits to a cavern not far from where the druids live, sire," Gwaine says, rocking on his feet.

Arthur nods, gesturing for him to continue. Gwaine takes a deep breath. "The good news, sire, is that they've all been killed." Arthur frowns, leaning forward. "The bad news is that whatever killed them is clearly more than we can handle. Whatever was there has never bothered us before, is seemingly docile, but I feel we must keep an eye out anyway."

He nods. "Yes. Thank you, Gwaine," he says, waving him away. Gwaine gives him a dopey smile with a mocking bow before turning on his heel. Arthur shakes his head in amusement, returning his sight to the paperwork regarding the cows.

"Arthur."

He jumps, head shooting up, quill clattering to the table. "What the -"

"We've got her," Merlin says, grinning. "She's let us in. I thought you might want to know, but I've not got much time. I'll give you more information later."

The mirage dissipates, and Arthur can't drag his eyes away from where the see-through image of Merlin had stood, looking a little worse for the ware but definitely present.

…

"Can warlocks use magic to move from one place to another but be sort of invisible?"

Gaius turns around with a befuddled look on his face. "I'm sorry?"

Arthur makes a noise of frustration and sits heavily on the bench next to the table. He waves his hands around, searching for words, but these movements make no progress in his attempt to make Gaius understand. "Merlin appeared before me in my office but he was see-through," he says, defeated.

Thankfully, Gaius makes a sound of comprehension. "You're speaking of projection, sire," he says, turning back around to his books. "Merlin transported his consciousness into your office and spoke to you using telepathy in a way you would understand."

Arthur stares at him blankly. "I don't understand," he states, dropping his hands. Gaius huffs in amusement.

"Did you receive his message, sire?" he asks.

"Well, yes, but-"

"Then you understand all you need to," Gaius interrupts, turning around to face him again. His face is kind, if still exasperated. "There is only so much I can explain to you, since you do not practice magic yourself, any further attempts would only confuse you more. To put it more simply, Merlin thought about you, and made his image appear before you."

Arthur is certain he's just been insulted. He's not sure whether it was intentional or not, or whether the physician knows but wants to be sure that Arthur himself does not. Either way, he decides to let it slide, too worried about Merlin and Mordred to really care.

He stays quiet, just nodding in response to Gaius' explanation. The old man watches him for another moment, then turns around, apparently deciding that Arthur is not going to say anything more.

And for a while, he doesn't. He watches, his mind a world away, and when he speaks, he does it almost without knowing. "Merlin and Mordred will be okay, right? They'll return just the same?"

Gaius stops. "What is this about, sire?" he questions, facing Arthur once more.

He shakes his head helplessly. "I… I have been betrayed so many times. What if Morgana gets to them? What if I am the one being played?"

Gaius doesn't seem offended on Merlin's behalf, which is a reaction that Arthur half-expected. "Has Merlin explained to you your destiny?" he asks, which seems pretty random to Arthur.

He answers anyway. "I am to rule Camelot," he says, then furrows his eyebrows when Gaius shakes his head.

"That is not all," he says. "Your destiny is to build Albion alongside Emrys. You are the Once and Future King of Albion, Arthur. And it is Merlin's responsibility to get you there. He believes in you and your destiny too much to ever abandon it of his own free will."

Arthur is getting tired of surprises. He stares at Gaius, shocked. Surely he is joking.

But the man doesn't look like he's jesting. He looks solemn and patient. "…all of Albion?" Arthur manages, and Gaius nods.

"Merlin reacted much the same way you did, though he was a bit more dubious of your part," Gaius says, which is probably meant to be reassuring. Arthur's nodding before the second part of the sentence sinks in. He jerks.

"Hey! What?"

Gaius smirks lightly. "He'd only just met you," he says.

Arthur deflates, nodding with a short laugh. "Yes, okay," he agrees.


End file.
